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JOSHUA  KUNITZ 


P 


A.  TAJIKISTAN 

B.  UZBEKISTAN 

C.  K  IRQHIZ    REP. 

D.  TURCMANISTAN 
E.KARA  KALPAK 


f 


T   A  A/ 


\ 


DAWN  OVER  SAMARKAND 


DAWN  OVER 
SAMARKAND 

THE  REBIRTH  OF  CENTRAL  ASIA 
BY  JOSHUA  KUNITZ 


NEW  YORK 


INTERNATIONAL  •  PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1935,  BY  JOSHUA  KUNITZ 


All  rights  reserved.  No  part  of  this 
book  may  be  reproduced  in  any 
form  without  permission  in  writ- 
ing from  the  publisher,  except  by  a 
reviewer  who  may  quote  brief  pas- 
sages in  a  review  to  be  printed  in  a 
magazine  or  newspaper. 


This  book  is  composed  and  printed  by  union  labor. 

Manufactured  in  the  United  States  of  America 

THE  VAN  REES  PRESS,  NEW  YORK 


To 

THE  NEGRO  PEOPLE 
OF  THE  UNITED  STATES 


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

IN  preparing  this  book  I  had  recourse  to  scores 
of  studies,  monographs,  memoirs  in  the  Russian 
language.  I  cannot  acknowledge  all  of  them.  The 
authors  to  whom  I  am  particularly  indebted  are: 
Faizulla  Khodzhaiev,  Rakhim  Khodzhibaiev, 
Boris  Lapin,  Zakhar  Khatzrevin,  A.  Briskin,  P. 
Alekseenko,  F.  Boshko,  Orest  Rovinsky,  T. 
Dzhurobaiev.  For  my  information  about  the  early 
career  of  Enver  Pasha,  I  am  indebted  to  Louis 
Fischer's  The  Soviets  in  World  Affairs.  The  quo- 
tations on  pages  127,  128,  162,  and  163  are  taken 
from  Soviet  Rule  in  Russia  by  Walter  Russell 
Batsell  (The  Macmillan  Company,  1929). 

I  wish  to  express  my  warmest  gratitude  to  my 
colleague,  Herman  Michelson,  as  well  as  to  Mr. 
Nathan  Ausubel,  and  Mrs.  Lydia  Gibson  Minor, 
for  their  reading  of  the  manuscript  and  their 
many  valuable  editorial  suggestions.  Needless  to 
say,  the  responsibility  for  the  inadequacies  of  this 
book  rest  solely  with  me.  I  wish  also  to  express 
deep  appreciation  to  my  friend  Edward  Dahlberg 
whose  enthusiastic  response  to  the  material 
hastened  the  publication  of  this  book. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION  11 

I 

OLD  AND  NEW— IMPRESSIONS 

I.    THE  EMIR 

FLIGHT  OF  EMIR  1Q 

SPIRITUAL  RULER  2 1 

TEMPORAL  RULER  22 

II.    MILLIONS  OF  DAYS 

NOBLE  BOKHARA  25 

PEOPLES  AND  CONQUERORS  28 

THE  WHITE  CZAR  3! 

III.  CONTRASTS 

WATER  AND   BLOOD  37 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  ARK  40 

UNREASONABLE  HUMAN  HERD  42 

II 

STRUGGLE  FOR  POWER 

IV.  GATHERING  OF  THE  STORM 

BOLD   SPIRITS  55 

EMIR'S  FUTILE  INCANTATIONS  57 

UNITED  IN  REVOLUTION  59 


V.    FIRST  THUNDERBOLT 

EMIR    PONDERS  65 

PARTING   OF   WAYS  71 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  EMPIRES  76 

VI.   A  COLOSSUS  PROSTRATE 

NOT  ALL  LENINS  8l 

SPECULATING  ON  DIFFICULTIES  86 

BARKING   JACKALS  93 

THE  BASMACHI  9*7 

PERFIDIOUS  ALBION  1O2 

VULTURE'S  FEAST  106 

VII.   ANOTHER  VICTORIOUS  PAGE 

BRITAIN'S  OUTRAGED  DIGNITY  112 

THE  EMIR  IS  DISCONSOLATE  Il6 

UNDER  THE  WALLS  OF  BOKHARA  122 

EPILOGUE  AND  PROLOGUE  126 

VIII.    RECEDING  VERSUS  EMERGENT 

REVOLUTION  IN  A  QUANDARY  129 

THE  THIEF  AND  THE  UNIQUE  ROSE  135 

MOSLEMS  OF  THE  WORLD  UNITE!  138 

HERE  A  MOSLEM  SAINT  IS  BURIED  145 

A  TICKET  TO   HEAVEN  148 

CONSOLIDATING  FORCES  151 

BOLSHEVIK  TECHNIQUE  154 

SHOWING  WAY  TO  MILLIONS  158 

A  WRONG  MADE  RIGHT  l6o 


III 

COMPLETING  THE  BOURGEOIS  REVOLUTION 

IX.    WHERE  COTTON  IS  KING 

WHITE  GOLD  169 

WHITE  PLAGUE  172 

FOR  COTTON— FOR  SOCIALISM!  175 


X.   LAND  AND  WATER  179 

ART  AND   PROPAGANDA  183 

POOR  BEYS  l86 

POOR  MULLAHS  l88 

THE  INTELLIGENTSIA  TOO!  1Q2 

LIKE  A  DREAM  COME  TRUE  1Q3 

XI.    TOWARD  SOCIALISM 

FEAR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  1Q7 

DIZZINESS  FROM  SUCCESS  2OO 

FASCINATION    OF   TRACTORS  2  04 

MTS  AND  COOPERATIVES  2O8 

PLANNING  MADE  POSSIBLE  212 

IV 

BUILDING  SOCIALISM  IN  TADJIKISTAN 

XII.    A  BOLSHEVIK  IN  STALINABAD 

STRUCTURES  AND  SUPERSTRUCTURES  2  17 
NATIONAL  IN  FORM,  SOCIALIST  IN  CONTENT      222 

IN  HAPPY  EXILE  227 

IBRAHIM  BEK  AGAIN!  22Q 

A  BOLSHEVIK  LEGEND  233 

XIII.  DUSHAMBE  VERSUS  STALINABAD 

DONKEYS— CAMELS— MULLAHS— MERCHANTS     237 
NO  MOSQUES,  NO  CHURCHES,  NO  SYNAGOGUES    240 

STALINABAD  PRESS— SELF-CRITICISM  243 

FOR  SANITATION!  FOR  EDUCATION!  247 

XIV.  A  SHEAF  OF  TRAVEL  NOTES  251 
XV.    NEW  WOMEN  IN  OLD  ASIA 

GRAY  OR  DARK-BLUE  COFFINS  274 

GREEN   FROGS  AND  FREE  WOMEN  278 

TACT  AND  REVOLUTION  287 

HUSBANDS  AND  SCHOOLS  2Q1 

A   TRANSITION    GENERATION  2Q7 


XVI.    THE  END  OF  THE  BASMACHI 

A  TOUCH  OF  THE  EXOTIC 

TWO  DOCUMENTS 

A  MEMORABLE  NIGHT 


302 
307 


SOVIET  ASIA— 1934 

XVII.   A  FANTASY  BASED  ON  FACT 

POIGNANT  THOUGHTS  .  .  .  BITTER  THOUGHTS      319 
A  SOVIET  RHAPSODY  322 

WE  HAVE  BEEN  VICTORIOUS  327 


XVIII.    SOVIET  ASIA  SINGS 

SONGS  OF  SORROW  AND  REVOLT 

SONGS  OF  FREEDOM 

SONGS  ABOUT  LENIN 

NEW  CONTENT— NEW  FORMS 


331 
336 
339 

343 


DAWN  OVER  SAMARKAND 


"One  of  two  things:  either  we  shall  set  in  motion  the  deep 
rear  of  imperialism— the  eastern  colonial  and  semi-colonial 
countries,  shall  revolutionize  them  and  thus  hasten  the  fall 
of  imperialism;  or  we  shall  botch  things  here  and  thereby 
strengthen  imperialism  and  weaken  our  movement.  This  is 
how  matters  stand. 

"The  point  is  that  the  entire  Orient  regards  our  Union  as 
an  experimental  field.  Either  we  correctly  decide  and  prac- 
tically apply  the  national  question  within  the  framework  of 
this  Union;  either  we  establish  really  fraternal  relations,  real 
collaboration  between  the  peoples  within  the  framework  of  this 
Union— and  then  the  entire  Orient  will  see  that  in  our  federa- 
tion it  possesses  a  banner  of  liberation,  a  vanguard  in  whose 
footsteps  it  should  walk,  and  this  will  be  the  beginning  of  the 
collapse  of  world  imperialism.  Or  we,  the  entire  federation, 
commit  a  mistake  here,  undermine  the  confidence  of  the 
formerly  oppressed  peoples  in  the  proletariat  of  Russia,  shear 
the  Union  of  its  power  to  attract  the  Orient  which  it  now 
enjoys,  in  which  event  imperialism  will  gain  and  we  shall 
lose. 

"This  constitutes  the  international  significance  of  the  na- 
tional question." 

—JOSEPH  STALIN,  Report  on  the  National 
Question,  delivered  at  the  XII  Con- 
gress of  the  Russian  Communist  Party, 


INTRODUCTION 

No  clouds!  In  a  clear  sky  I  see 
The  sun.  No  night  to  dim  bright  day! 
No  Czar!  Our  soil's  forever  free! 
Well  done,  O  Bolshevik! 

You  crushed  the  Khans,  you  did  not  spare 
The  age-long  foe  of  tribes  oppressed. 
The  victory  the  poor  will  share. 
Well  done,  O  Bolshevik! 

Of  all  I've  heard  and  seen  I  sing, 
For  now  my  blind  eyes  see  anew. . . . 
I  see,  I  feel  the  joy  you  bring- 
Well  done,  O  Bolshevik! 

— KAR-MOLLI 
(A  blind  seventy -year-old  Turkoman  bard) 

BOKHARA,  Samarkand,  Dushambe,  what  romantic  as- 
sociations are  evoked  by  the  mere  mention  of  these 
names!  Down  a  yellow  shimmering  road  a  long  line  of 
conquerors— Alexander  the  Great,  Genghis  Khan,  Tamer- 
lane—and countless  peoples  and  tribes  move  in  endless 
caravans  through  the  centuries,  lured  by  the  "pleasure 
domes"  and  "gardens  bright"  of  Samarkand  the  Ancient 
and  Noble  Bokhara. . . .  Incense-bearing  trees,  vineyards, 
pomegranates,  pistachios,  cotton  fields,  bazaars,  camels, 
rugs,  silks,  harems  .  . .  against  a  background  of  deep  blue, 
gleaming  towers  of  particolored  mosques,  turbaned  mul- 
lahs reciting  the  sacred  verses  of  the  Koran,  veiled  maid- 
ens swaying  gently  to  the  weird  monotone  of  an  old 
chant 

Alluring  echoes,  these,  of  a  romanticized,  idealized  past 
—an  Occidental's  literary  reveries. 

I  recall  our  trip  to  Varsobstroy,  the  new  hydroelectric 
station  that  was  being  built  in  the  remote  land  of  the 
Tadjiks,  at  the  foot  of  the  Pamir.  We  were  a  literary  bri- 
gade; Egon  Erwin  Kisch,  the  Austrian  journalist;  Paul 

11 


1 2  INTRODUCTION 

Vaillant-Couturier,  the  French  revolutionary  writer;  Luyn, 
a  Norwegian  writer;  Bruno  Jasiensky,  the  Polish  novelist 
and  poet;  Anna  Abramovna  Berzina,  the  Russian  writer, 
and  Louis  Lozowick,  American  artist.  Our  cars  rattled  up 
the  narrow,  rocky  road  that  wound  along  the  precipice 
overhanging  the  wild  Dushambe.  The  mountains  on  both 
sides  of  the  river  were  bare  rocks,  torn  by  deep  gorges,  red 
with  the  heat  of  the  sun.  Far  in  the  distance  Igomed  the 
snowy  peak  of  Lenin-tau. 

There  was  not  a  living  being  in  sight,  except  for  a  rare 
native  in  bright  cloak  and  silk  embroidered  skull-cap, 
prodding  his  long  stick  into  the  ribs  of  his  obstreperous 
ishak  (native  ass),  or  an  occasional  eagle  wheeling  in  the 
sky. 

The  country  was  primitive.  Only  here  and  there  one 
saw  traces  of  civilization:  now  a  green  patch  of  cultivated 
land  rising  on  a  steep  incline— a  triumph  of  human  per- 
sistence and  ingenuity;  now  an  ethereally  woven  bridge 
arching  perilously  over  the  roaring  Dushambe. 

But  those  things  had  been  there  for  centuries.  Alex- 
ander the  Great,  during  his  famous  passage  to  India,  must 
have  contemplated  them  as  rude  signs  of  a  primitive 
life. 

The  ebullient  Frenchman  at  my  side,  undaunted  by  the 
scorching  heat  and  clouds  of  dust,  grew  eloquent  over  the 
rough  grandeur  of  the  scene:  "Chaos . . .  primordial 
chaos  . . .  magnifique! . . ." 

"Never  mind  chaos  . . ."  grumbled  Khodzhaiev,  a  young 
Tadjik,  a  member  of  the  State  Planning  Commission  of 
Tadjikistan.  "We  are  beginning  to  harness  this  chaos. 
There  has  been  chaos  here  long  enough." 

It  was  always  so!  Invariably  those  Central  Asian  Bol- 
sheviks would  put  a  damper  on  our  innocent  enthusiasms. 
Small  wonder.  They  had  dwelt  there  for  centuries,  in 
ignorance,  in  darkness,  isolated  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
oppressed  by  the  Czars,  exploited  by  the  native  rulers,  the 
Emirs,  the  Khans,  the  Beys,  and  the  all-powerful  and  fanat- 
ical Mohammedan  clergy.  One  could  scarcely  blame  them 
for  being  impatient  with  the  magnificence  of  chaos  and 


INTRODUCTION  1 3 

for  finding  romance  "in  this  telegraph  line  we  have  put 
up  here  at  the  cost  of  infinite  pain,  in  this  road  which 
we  are  building  and  which  is  to  serve  as  an  artery  beating 
with  the  pulse  of  a  modern  Stalinabad  joined  to  a  modern- 
ized Samarkand  and  Tashkent." 

"This  is  our  romance,"  insisted  Khodzhaiev.  "Bolshevik 
tempo,  comrade,  Bolshevik  tempo!"  And  after  a  pause:  "If 
you  ever  write  about  Tadjikistan,  please  don't  fall  into 
the  error  of  most  of  the  Europeans  who  visit  us,  don't 
descend  to  exoticism,  don't  become  worked  up  over  the 
magnificence  of  chaos."  Khodzhaiev  pronounced  "magnifi- 
cence of  chaos"  with  irony.  "Please  don't  expatiate  on  the 
beauty  of  our  apparel,  the  quaintness  of  our  villages,  the 
mystery  hidden  beneath  our  women's  paranjas,  the  charm 
of  sitting  on  rugs  under  shady  plane  trees  and  listening 
to  the  sweet  monotone  of  our  bards,  of  drinking  green 
tea  from  a  piala — and  eating  pilaf  wth  our  hands.  Really, 
there  is  little  that  is  charming  about  all  that.  Take  any 
cultured  Central  Asian,  cultured  in  a  modern  sense,  that 
is,  and  to  him  most  of  the  local  customs  mean  simply  back- 
wardness, ignorance  of  the  most  elementary  rules  of  sani- 
tation and  prophylactics." 

We  felt  that  Khodzhaiev  was  annihilating  a  half— the 
best  half,  we  thought— of  our  prospective  books  on  Central 
Asia.  We  hastened  to  defend  ourselves,  attempting  to  as- 
suage him  by  diplomacy,  reminding  him  jocularly  that  if 
we  ever  wrote  anything  about  Central  Asia,  it  would  be 
not  for  Uzbeks  and  Tadjiks,  but  for  Europeans  and 
Americans,  and  that  a  touch  of  the  exotic  might  make  our 
books  more  palatable  to  the  West. 

"But  that  would  be  pandering,"  Khodzahiev  argued  in- 
dignantly. "You  would  not  be  describing  Soviet  Central 
Asia.  If  your  reader  is  interested  in  exoticism  let  him  read 
books  about  us  written  ten  or  twenty  or  fifty  or  a  hundred 
years  ago— it  would  all  be  the  same.  But  you  are  in  Soviet 
Asia,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  give  what  is  most  characteristic, 
what  distinguishes  our  Soviet  Republics.  You  must  deal 
with  the  living,  not  the  dead." 

Khodzahiev  was,  of  course,  right.  He  was  speaking  of  a 


14  INTRODUCTION 

modern  romance,  a  contemporary  epic— the  rebirth  of 
Central  Asia.  And  that  romance,  he  felt,  demanded  not 
rhetoric  but  arithmetic,  not  exclamation  marks  but 
figures. 

Central  Asia  is  in  a  paroxysm  of  change.  The  imme- 
morial droning  of  the  somnolent  East  is  drowned  out  by 
the  strains  of  the  Internationale  mingled  with  the  sirens 
of  new  factories  and  the  hum  of  American  and  Soviet 
motors.  Among  the  traditional  paranjas  of  the  veiled 
women  there  are  appearing  in  ever-increasing  numbers 
the  bobbed  hair  and  the  khaki  uniforms  of  the  revolution- 
ary youth.  Mullahs  and  beys  have  been  supplanted  by 
Soviet  commissars  and  Red  factory  managers.  Mosques  and 
mederesse  (religious  academies)  are  being  crowded  out  by 
Communist  Universities,  workers'  clubs,  people's  theaters, 
libraries,  movies.  An  anciently  entrenched  oriental  feudal- 
ism is  being  shattered  by  the  vast  sweep  of  modernity,  by 
industrialization,  electricity,  collectivization,  science. 

For  years  now  Central  Asia  has  been  a  medley  of  clash- 
ing values.  The  revolution  has  unleashed  a  whirlwind  of 
passion.  The  old  fights  back,  desperately,  brutally.  But 
the  new  is  triumphantly  advancing.  Even  those  who  cling 
to  the  old  cannot  resist  the  magnificent  upsurge  of  the 
new.  History  has  executed  a  sudden  volte  face:  the  West 
is  carrying  its  civilization  back  to  its  place  of  origin. 
Western  revolutionary  scientific  ideas  have  been  hurled 
against  eastern  tradition  with  unparalleled  daring,  and  the 
emotional  overtones  of  this  collision  of  two  world  systems 
are  surely  the  most  dramatic  aspects  of  the  epoch-making 
advance  of  Bolshevism  in  the  Orient. 

Yes,  a  storm  is  raging  over  Asia.  The  heart  of  the  old 
continent  is  on  fire.  From  Moscow  the  revolutionary  flames 
have  raced  across  the  burning  steppes  of  Turkmenia  and 
enveloped  the  Asiatic  extremities  of  the  old  empire.  And 
the  end  is  not  yet.  Beyond  Khiva,  Bokhara  and  Samar- 
kand, beyond  Turkmanistan,  Uzbekistan,  Tadjikistan, 
these  rising  outposts  of  Bolshevik  influence  in  the  East, 
there  are  the  teeming  colonial  and  semi-colonial  peoples 
of  Asia — Persia,  Afghanistan,  Mongolia,  India,  China. . . . 


INTRODUCTION  15 

Central  Asia  has  become  a  source  of  infinite  wonder- 
ment to  the  peoples  of  the  Orient,  including  the  Central 
Asians  themselves.  It  is  significant  that  within  the  last 
few  years  the  Karategin,  Darvaz,  and  Pamir  mountain 
Tadjiks  have  evolved  the  so-called  "songs  of  wonderment," 
a  new  genre  of  folk  poetry.  Each  of  these  new  songs  ex- 
presses the  bard's  thrill  of  amazement  at  first  beholding 
the  achievements  of  the  new  Socialist  Soviet  Republics. 

Thus,  to  take  only  one  example,  the  Tadjik  bard  Mu- 
navvar-Sho,  for  instance,  is  ineffably  impressed  by  what 
he  saw  in  the  capital.  His  song  begins  with  an  enumeration 
of  all  kinds  of  possible  and  impossible  wonders  that  he 
had  once  seen  or  heard  or  remembered — "soot  and  ashes 
in  the  caverns  of  the  moon,"  "a  kingdom  bathed  eternally 
in  the  lunar  quiet  of  the  night,"  a  "multitudinous  bazaar 
where  the  silence  is  never  broken,"  the  men  of  Darvaz 
who  when  they  caress  their  lovely  damsels  find  "eternity 
too  short  and  a  second  much  too  long. ..."  However, 
Munawar-Sho  has  visited  the  new  city  of  Stalinabad,  the 
capital  of  Tadjikistan,  and  has  grown  much  wiser.  He  now 
speaks  contemptuously  of  all  those  wonders  he  once  be- 
lieved. He  dismisses  them  as  trifling,  mere  "fables."  The 
one  thing  he  now  really  knows,  the  one  really  great  wonder 
is  the  city  of  Stalinabad  where  he  saw  "a  great,  big  square 
with  clubs  and  cars  and  cinemas  and  factories  and  lights." 

News  spreads  fast  in  Central  Asia.  Mountains,  deserts, 
rivers  and  national  boundaries  present  no  serious  obstacle. 
Everything  spectacular  happening  in  Soviet  Asia  is  imme- 
diately known  in  all  the  surrounding  colonial  and  semi- 
colonial  lands.  In  remote  Khokanyor,  for  instance,  the 
whole  village— men,  women  and  children— had  gone  out  to 
meet  the  first  tractor  shipped  from  the  center.  When  they 
saw  that  the  tractor  could  not  be  brought  down  the  very 
steep  hill,  they  decided  to  carry  the  machine  down  in  their 
arms.  For  weeks  the  tractor  driver  was  the  most  respected 
man  in  the  village.  On  the  other  side  of  the  border  Afghans 
sat  day  and  night  and  watched  the  tractor  working. 

And  at  Sarai  Komar,  the  center  for  the  development  of 
Egyptian  cotton  in  Tadjikistan,  I  saw  a  delegation  of 


l6  INTRODUCTION 

Afghans  who  came  from  across  the  Pianj  to  ask  the  local 
Soviet  authorities  to  help  them  organize  a  collective  farm. 

"But  you  are  not  Soviet  citizens,"  protested  the  Tadjik 
official.  'Tour  country  is  Afghanistan.  We  can't  come  there 
and  organize  collective  farms." 

"Why  not?"  asked  the  naive  Afghans.  "You  have  a 
strong  army." 

The  thing  appeared  quite  simple  to  the  applicants- 
come  with  your  army  and  organize  collective  farms. 

"It's  a  long  and  very  complicated  story— why  not," 
dodged  the  official.  "But  why  not  get  together  your  be- 
longings and  come  to  us?  We'll  organize  you  in  a  kolkhoz 
all  right.  We'll  settle  you  on  good  land,  and  give  you 
credits.  Remember  we  can  use  here  another  million  and  a 
half  willing  workers.  Just  go  back  and  think  it  over." 

Disappointed,  the  Afghans  left.  I  do  not  know  whether 
those  particular  Afghans  ever  came  back.  But  I  do  know 
of  a  few  collective  farms  in  Tadjikistan  organized  by 
Afghan  immigrants.  I  have  also  met  a  number  of  Afghans 
in  one  of  the  brick  factories  in  Stalinabad,  the  new  Tadjik 
capital. 

Great  Britain  is  filled  with  foreboding.  Japan  is  rattling 
the  sword.  Hyashi  says  Japan  will  not  brook  Soviet  influ- 
ence in  Sinkiang  or  the  rest  of  China.  The  United  States 
is  wavering,  loath  to  see  Japan  gobble  up  China  and  loath 
to  see  Soviet  influence  spreading  in  the  Orient.  Of  late  it 
has  begun  to  lean  more  to  the  side  of  Japan.  Asia  is  in  a 
great  ferment.  One  little  spark  may  set  off  an  explosion 
powerful  enough  to  shatter  to  bits  the  whole  elaborate 
world  structure  of  modern  imperialist-capitalist  civiliza- 
tion. And  it  is  as  likely  as  not  that  that  spark  may  be  gen- 
erated around  Uzbekistan  or  Tadjikistan,  the  two  young 
Soviet  Republics  which  have  risen  out  of  the  ashes  of  an- 
cient Bokhara  in  the  very  heart  of  Asia. 


PART  ONE 
OLD  AND  NEW— IMPRESSIONS 


"Since  the  time  of  the  formation  of  the  Soviet  Republics, 
the  states  of  the  world  have  divided  into  two  camps:  the 
camp  of  capitalism  and  the  camp  of  socialism. 

"There— in  the  camp  of  capitalism— national  enmity  and  in- 
equality, colonial  slavery  and  chauvinism,  national  oppres- 
sion and  pogroms,  imperialist  brutalities  and  wars. 

"Here— in  the  camp  of  socialism— mutual  confidence  and 
peace,  national  freedom  and  equality,  dwelling  together  in 
peace  and  the  brotherly  collaboration  of  peoples. 

"The  attempts  of  the  capitalist  world  for  a  number  of 
decades  to  settle  the  question  of  nationality  by  the  combina- 
tion of  the  free  development  of  peoples  with  the  system  of 
the  exploitation  of  man  by  man  have  proved  fruitless.  On 
the  contrary,  the  skein  of  national  contradictions  is  becoming 
more  and  more  tangled,  threatening  the  very  existence  of 
capitalism.  The  bourgeoisie  has  been  incapable  of  organizing 
the  collaboration  of  peoples. 

"Only  in  the  camp  of  the  Soviets,  only  under  the  conditions 
of  the  dictatorship  of  the  proletariat,  mustering  round  itself 
the  majority  of  the  population,  has  it  proved  itself  possible 
to  destroy  national  oppression  at  the  roots,  to  establish  an 
atmosphere  of  mutual  confidence  and  lay  the  foundation  of 
the  brotherly  collaboration  of  peoples. 

"Only  thanks  to  these  circumstances  have  the  Soviet  Re- 
publics been  able  to  beat  off  the  attacks  of  the  imperialists 
of  the  whole  world,  internal  and  external,  only  thanks  to 
these  circumstances  have  they  been  able  successfully  to  liqui- 
date the  Civil  War,  and  to  secure  their  own  existence  and 
commence  economic  reconstruction." 

—Declaration  from  the  Constitution  of 
the  Union  of  Socialist  Soviet  Republics. 


THE  EMIR 

Humanity  is  plagued  by  four  evils— fleas,  bed- 
bugs, mullahs,  and  the  Emir's  officials. 

—Tadjik  proverb. 


Flight  of  Emir 

THE  Bokhara  Emirate  was  overthrown  in  September, 
1920.  The  Emir,  abandoning  his  hundred  wives,  but 
taking  along  his  letter  of  credit  on  the  English  bank  (fifty- 
four  million  gold  rubles),  fled  from  his  capital,  followed  by 
a  host  of  officials,  mullahs,  merchants,  and  several  of  his 
comeliest  bachi  (young  boys).  The  news  spread  like  wild- 
fire: The  Djadids  (bourgeois  progressives)  have  seized 
power  in  Bokhara;  they  are  being  helped  by  the  Bolsheviks. 

A  strange  silence  fell  upon  the  land.  From  early  dawn, 
great  clouds  of  dust  rose  above  the  road  leading  from  Bok- 
hara through  Denau  to  Dushambe.  Thousands  of  the 
Emir's  horsemen  moved  stealthily  in  the  direction  of 
Eastern  Bokhara.  Like  a  thief  in  the  night,  Emir  Said- 
Alim  entered  Denau.  No  sumptuously  dressed  cortege 
now,  no  music,  no  harem— only  a  pitiful  horde  of  fright- 
ened followers. 

Four  nights  the  Emir  spent  in  Denau.  Nigmatulla,  the 
Bek,  was  so  anxious  to  please  his  majesty  that  he  became 
hoarse  issuing  orders  to  his  servants.  But  knowing  the 
Emir's  lechery,  Nigmatulla  was  somewhat  worried  about 
his  sisters  whom  he  had  kept  unmarried  because  he  could 
not  find  in  wild  Denau  men  of  sufficient  wealth  and  social 
standing  to  satisfy  him.  Now,  that  the  Emir  was  his  guest, 
Nigmatulla  was  in  a  quandary.  At  a  conference  of  the 
local  officials,  therefore,  he  urged  that  something  quite 

19 


2O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

extraordinary  be  presented  to  the  Emir  for  his  delectation 
and  amusement.  According  to  the  stories  of  the  local  peas- 
ants, seven  youngsters,  daughters  of  the  poorest  peasants, 
were  selected.  They  were  flat-breasted  little  creatures,  with 
not  a  single  hair  on  their  bodies.  Among  them  was  little 
Khozid,  a  slip  of  a  girl,  pale,  thin,  transparent.  The  old 
mother  begged  for  mercy.  Nigmatulla  was  adamant:  "You 
ought  to  be  proud,  you  foolish  woman,  that  the  Emir  is 
so  kindly  disposed  to  your  ragged  little  brat." 

The  first  day,  peasants  by  the  thousands  milled  around 
the  house  where  the  Emir  was  lodged,  anxious  to  get  at 
least  one  glimpse  at  the  divine  being  they  so  often  blessed 
in  their  Friday  prayers.  By  the  end  of  the  second  day, 
however,  there  was  not  a  peasant  left  in  Denau.  They  had 
all  sought  refuge  in  the  villages,  hiding  their  young  wives 
and  daughters,  smearing  dung  over  the  faces  of  the  pret- 
tier youngsters. 

To  deflect  popular  resentment,  the  Emir  incited  the 
peasants  to  rob  the  Jews,  who,  he  charged,  had  brought 
the  Bolsheviks  into  the  land.  And,  it  is  reported,  to  replen- 
ish his  own  depleted  fortunes  (the  English  bank  was  alas 
too  far!)  he  seized  the  wealthiest  Jewish  merchants  in  the 
region,  decapitated  them,  and  confiscated  about  three- 
quarters  of  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  silver.  The  prettier 
Jewish  women  he  ordered  seized  and  distributed  among 
his  followers.  But  his  henchmen  excelled  even  him  in 
greed  and  lawlessness,  forcibly  taking  the  grain,  the  horses, 
the  handsome  boys  and  girls  from  the  peasants.  An  outcry 
of  anger  and  indignation  shook  the  town.  On  the  morning 
of  the  fifth  day,  when  the  tidings  came  that  the  Bolsheviks 
were  in  pursuit,  the  Emir  and  his  ignominious  train  re- 
sumed their  hasty  retreat  to  Dushambe. 

In  Dushambe  the  Emir  attempted  to  organize  a  force 
to  resist  the  onslaught  of  the  approaching  Red  Army  and 
the  revolutionary  Bokharan  detachments.  He  drew  to  him- 
self the  blackest  forces  who  sensed  in  the  advance  of  the 
Reds  their  inevitable  end.  English  imperialism,  too,  was 
not  slow  in  offering  aid  to  the  Emir.  But  the  peasants,  for 
the  most  part,  refused  to  send  their  sons  to  fight  for  their 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  21 

oppressor.  They  knew  what  a  restoration  of  the  Emir 
would  mean.  Deserted  by  his  people,  the  Emir  could  not 
withstand  the  pressure  of  the  Red  troops  that  were  ad- 
vancing inexorably  through  Baisun,  Denau,  Dushambe, 
Faizabad,  Kuliab,  and  on  March  5,  1920,  Emir  Said-Alim- 
Bakhadur-Khan,  the  last  of  the  Mongit  dynasty,  fled  to 
Afghanistan. 


Spiritual  Ruler 

Noble  Bokhara— "high,  holy,  divinely  descended  Bok- 
hara"—capital  of  the  ancient  Bokhara  Khanate;  home  of  a 
long  line  of  mighty  temporal  and  spiritual  rulers,  the 
Emirs,  who  next  to  the  Turkish  chalifs  wielded  the  great- 
est authority  among  the  Moslem  peoples. . . .  Bokhara- 
glorious  citadel  of  Arabian-Persian  culture;  for  centuries 
the  "heart  of  Islam"  in  Middle  Asia;  birthplace  of  great 
orthodox  scholars  and  expounders  of  the  Koran;  center 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  mosques  and  one  hundred  and 
fifty  mederesse From  the  Volga,  the  Crimea,  the  Cau- 
casus, the  Siberian  deserts,  the  Pamir  mountains,  Chinese 
Turkestan  pilgrims  and  students  of  the  Koran  and  of 
Sunnite  lore  came  here  to  kneel  in  reverence  before  the 
grandeur,  the  sanctity  of  the  great  city  and  its  divine  ruler. 

Bokhara  was  a  powerful  theocracy  in  its  day.  Headed 
by  the  Emir,  the  Bokharan  clergy  was  omnipotent.  Educa- 
tion, justice,  domestic  relations,  everything  was  in  its 
hands.  Through  the  centuries,  the  Emirs  and  their  hosts 
of  mullahs  (who  were  three  per  cent  of  the  entire  popula- 
tion; practically  the  only  people  who  were  literate  were 
mullahs)  had  perfected  a  splendid  apparatus  for  regiment- 
ing the  emotions  and  aspirations,  the  very  lives  of  the 
Bokharan  peoples.  Wealthy  and  disciplined,  the  Moslem 
clergy  under  the  Emirs  formed  a  powerful  army  for 
crushing  any  signs  of  spiritual  independence  or  intellec- 
tual heterodoxy  anywhere  in  their  domain. 

Fearful  that  secular  modern  education,  that  science 
would  undermine  the  established  feudal  order,  the  Emir 


22  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

and  his  mullahs  fiercely  opposed  every  tendency  in  that 
direction.  Education  was  religious  education.  Culture  was 
traditional  culture.  The  sole  function  of  the  few  elemen- 
tary schools,  conducted  by  mullahs  or  students  from  the 
religious  academies,  was  to  give  the  squatting  pupil  a 
smattering  of  religious  dogma,  a  fair  knowledge  of  Mo- 
hammedan ritual  and  practice,  and  a  familiarity  with  a 
few  Moslem  prayers.  The  entire  elementary  "education" 
reduced  itself  to  a  few  years  of  reciting  by  rote  some  verses 
from  the  Koran.  In  the  elementary  schools,  few  learned 
to  read,  fewer  to  write.  In  the  higher  institution  of  learn- 
ing, in  the  mederesse,  the  course  of  studies  differed  in 
quantity  rather  than  in  quality  from  that  pursued  in  the 
elementary  school.  Modern  languages,  natural  sciences, 
higher  mathematics,  all  these  were  strictly  taboo.  The  cita- 
del of  ancient  Arabian-Persian  culture  had  to  be  pre- 
served. The  Emir's  theocratic  rule  had  to  be  kept  intact. 

In  the  isolated  Bokharan  towns  and  villages,  the  mul- 
lahs were  everything— teachers,  judges,  spiritual  guides. 
People  went  to  them  for  advice,  seeking  their  authority 
whenever  any  matter  came  up  for  a  decision.  This  custom 
was  hoary  with  age,  and  no  one  could  question  it  with 
impunity.  For  the  poor,  overtaxed  subjects  of  the  Emir, 
the  only  consolation,  the  only  hope  lay  in  death,  in  the 
glorious  beyond;  but  even  the  keys  to  the  beyond  were  in 
the  hands  of  the  mullahs.  If  any  bold  subject  of  the  Emir 
ever  dared  to  rebel  or  even  grumble,  he  would  be  torn 
to  pieces  by  the  mullah-incited  mobs.  The  Emir's  spiritual 
authority  was  not  to  be  questioned. 


Temporal  Ruler 

The  Emir's  temporal  authority  was  also  absolute.  The 
heads  of  the  various  government  departments,  the  minis- 
ters, were  appointed  by  him  and  were  responsible  solely  to 
him.  The  country  was  divided  into  administrative  units — 
provinces,  counties,  villages.  The  corresponding  adminis- 
trative offices  were  those  of  Bek,  Amliakadar,  and  AksakaL 


OLD   AND   NEW IMPRESSIONS  2g 

The  custodians  of  religion  and  education  in  each  bekdom 
were  the  Raizes  and  their  subordinates.  The  financial  de- 
partment was  administered  by  the  Ziakets — the  central 
and  local  tax  collectors.  Finally  each  bekdom  had  its  own 
judicial  apparatus  consisting  of  the  chief  casi,  generally  a 
mullah,  and  his  subordinate  casiij  also  mullahs,  through- 
out the  amliakadardoms.  All  offices  were  under  the  direct 
control  of  the  Emir's  ministers. 

The  Emir  paid  no  salaries.  The  Beks,  the  Amliakadars, 
the  Aksakals,  the  Ziakets,  all  worked  on  a  commission 
basis,  receiving  a  stipulated  percentage  of  the  moneys  they 
collected.  The  more  they  collected,  the  greater  the  com- 
missions. The  system  lent  itself  to  endless  abuses. 

Nepotism  was  rife.  Officials  filled  their  departments 
with  friends  and  relatives.  Offices  were  opportunities  to 
mulct  the  population  by  taxes,  bribes,  extortions,  expro- 
priations. To  get  into  office  one  had  to  make  generous 
gifts  to  the  high  officials  surrounding  the  Emir.  Office- 
holding  was  a  business  and  bribes  to  one's  superiors  were 
a  good  business  investment. 

To  support  the  Emir  and  his  rapacious  officials  and 
mullahs,  the  population  was  taxed  mercilessly.  There  was 
a  tax  on  the  crops  (one-sixth  of  the  yearly  yield);  a  tax  on 
the  cattle  and  produce  bought  and  sold  on  the  market; 
a  head  tax  on  each  member  of  the  family;  tolls  to  be  paid 
for  crossing  bridges  and  using  the  roads— taxes  without 
end,  and  a  large  share  of  all  this  revenue  would  find  its 
way  into  the  Emir's  coffers.  More,  the  Mohammedan  reli- 
gion provided  for  a  fund— vakuf— to  be  devoted  to  satisfy- 
ing the  spiritual  needs  of  the  faithful.  Ten  per  cent  of 
every  Moslem  income  had  to  go  into  the  treasury  of  the 
mosque.  This  money,  according  to  the  Holy  Books,  had 
to  be  used  for  the  maintenance  of  religious  schools,  the 
development  of  "science,"  aiding  the  poor,  and  support- 
ing benevolent  institutions.  But  even  the  vakuf  had  for  a 
long  time  been  appropriated  by  the  Emirs  and  the  upper 
clergy  for  their  personal  use. 

While  the  population  was  being  impoverished,  the  Emir 
was  accumulating  more  and  more  wealth.  Not  satisfied 


24  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

with  his  income  as  head  of  the  state  and  head  of  the 
mosque,  the  Emir  also  went  in  for  money-making  as  mer- 
chant and  industrialist,  taking  advantage  of  his  position 
of  absolute  monarch  to  exploit  the  people.  Besides  the 
huge  sums  spent  on  maintaining  the  luxurious  court  and 
harems,  on  bribing  the  Russian  officials,  and  on  sumptu- 
ous presents  to  the  Russian  Czar  and  his  family,  the  Emir 
invested  more  than  100,000,000  rubles  in  commerce,  in 
railroad  companies,  and  in  Russian  and  foreign  industrial 
concerns.  As  in  the  early  period  of  European  feudalism, 
so  in  Bokhara  no  distinction  was  made  between  what  be- 
longed to  the  state  and  what  belonged  to  the  ruler.  The 
vast  riches  of  the  country  were  regarded  as  the  Emir's 
personal  property;  the  state  treasury  was  the  Emir's  treas- 
ury; the  whole  of  Bokhara,  the  Emir's  estate. 

More  than  a  hundred  million!  And  that  was  not  all. 
Add  to  that  the  sums  the  Emir  received  for  the  great 
stocks  of  cotton  and  caracul  he  had  shipped  to  England 
in  1919-1920,  then  add  the  moneys  he  deposited  in  the 
French  and  English  banks,  and  you  get  an  idea  of  the 
immense  personal  fortune  of  Noble  Bokhara's  divine 
ruler.  No  wonder  that  when  the  Soviet  Government  of 
Bokhara  was  organized  it  found  the  country  in  an  in- 
credible state  of  devastation  and  wretchedness.  The  Emir 
had  done  nothing  to  develop  industry,  stimulate  com- 
merce, improve  agriculture;  he  had  not  adopted  a  single 
measure  to  provide  for  the  health  of  the  people,  for  their 
education  and  culture.  There  was  not  a  single  theater  in 
Bokhara,  and  only  one  small  privately  owned  moving  pic- 
ture place.  Of  the  annual  eighteen  million  rubles  that  the 
Emir  received  in  revenues,  an  infinitesimal  portion  was 
spent  on  the  people's  most  elementary  needs.  Three  tiny 
hospitals  and  an  abominably  laid  pavement  in  the  main 
streets  of  the  capital— these  were  all  that  the  Bokharans 
ever  received  from  their  government.  Not  one  kopeck 
from  the  Emir's  huge  income  was  spent  on  irrigation,  on 
roads,  bridges,  schools,  or  sanitation.  The  masses  had  to 
shift  for  themselves  as  best  they  might.  Everything  was  in 
a  state  of  ruin  and  neglect. 


II 

MILLIONS  OF  DAYS 


Along  the  road, 

Old  and  long, 

Passed  to  and  fro 

Alexander  who  conquered  the  world, 

The  great  Caesar, 

And  the  murdered  Genghis. 

And  Tamerlane  left  his  traces, 

And  the  Mongols  took  vengeance, 

And  China  attacked. 

They  murdered  men 

And  they  robbed  the  gardens. 

Blood,  blood. 

ft  was  bad  for  the  living  where  Jugi  went. 

Along  these  roads 

Very  ancient, 

Across  these  steppes 

And  mountains  and  valleys, 

Went  slaves  and  widows, 

Their  necks  in  iron  chains, 

Five,  ten,  hundreds  of  millions  of  men, 

Condemned,  weakened, 

Hunted  out  by  sorrow— 

And  they  came  again  to  sorrow. 

And  ruin  flew  from  Peking  to  Rome, 

Ruin  went  from  Moscow  to  Bombay, 

And  the  unconquerable  army  moved. 

And  all  the  roads  were  spread  with  human  bones. 
Translated  from  the  Uzbek  of  Gafur  Gulam 
by  Langston  Hughes  and  Nina  Zorokovina. 


Noble  Bokhara 


NOW  the  Emir  is  gone.  He  is  selling  caracul  in  Cabul. 
The  jeweled  crown  has  been  removed  from  Bokhara. 
Bokhara's  age-long  rival,  Samarkand,  has  become  the  cap- 
ital of  the  new  State,  the  Uzbek  Socialist  Soviet  Republic, 
while  Tashkent,  another  rival,  has  become  the  flourishing 


26  DAWN   OVER   SAMARKAND 

center  of  contemporary  Uzbek  industry  and  culture.  After 
a  long  and  turbulent  life,  old  Bokhara  seems  to  be  at  rest, 
waiting. 

I  rise  early  and  take  a  stroll  in  the  company  of  Shokhor, 
the  local  correspondent  for  a  Moscow  paper,  through  the 
outskirts  of  the  old  city.  There  are  gray  streets,  gray  fences, 
gray  walls,  low,  flat-roofed  gray  houses,  all  merged  into 
one  monotonous  mass  of  corrugated  gray,  the  same  as  they 
have  been  for  centuries,  hardened,  immutable.  As  one 
gropes  one's  way  through  the  endless  labyrinth  of  Bo- 
khara's narrow  alleys,  a  queer  sensation  of  timelessness 
creeps  over  one— millions  of  days,  thousands  of  months, 
hundreds  of  years— as  silent,  as  soft,  individually  as  indis- 
tinguishable as  the  vague  silhouettes  of  the  few  veiled 
women  who  glide  mutely  along  the  walls.  A  sleepy  Uzbek 
with  rolled-up  trouser  legs,  his  Mongolian  face  and  sturdy 
limbs  the  color  of  chocolate,  sprinkles  the  street  from  a 
water  skin.  In  the  distance,  in  the  pale  blue  haze,  gleam 
the  minarets,  tiled  in  turquoise  and  peacock  colors.  A 
stork  rises  from  the  gigantic  cupola  of  a  mosque  and  glides 
above  the  city.  It  is  soon  joined  by  others  and  still  others. 
The  sacred  birds  hail  the  rising  sun  as  they  have  hailed 
it  countless  mornings  in  the  past.  A  muezzin  calls  the 
faithful  to  the  morning  prayer  in  the  same  tones,  in  the 
same  words,  as  a  thousand  years  before.  Outwardly,  at 
least,  it  seems  that  life  here  still  remains  as  changeless  as 
the  surrounding  desert.  For  centuries  men  as  identical  as 
peas  in  a  pod  were  being  born  here  and  grew  and  aged 
and  died,  while  the  same  sun  poured  the  same  scorching 
rays  on  the  same  gray  walls  in  the  summer,  and  the  same 
cold  rains  turned  the  gray  dust  into  the  same  thick  clay  in 
the  autumn.  And  behind  the  windowless  walls  husbands 
and  wives  and  children  lived  in  the  same  ancient  Mo- 
hammedan traditions,  with  masculine  and  parental  pre- 
rogatives inviolate,  with  polygamy,  forced  marriages,  and 
bride-purchasing  at  the  very  foundation  of  the  family 
structure. 

Somewhere  on  the  remotest  outskirts  of  the  city  beyond 
the  high  embattled  walls  we  find  the  notorious  dungeon 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  27 

built  by  Nasrullah  Khan,  the  Emir  who  seized  the  throne 
in  1826  after  beheading,  as  a  simple  matter  of  precaution, 
his  three  brothers  and  twenty-eight  other  close  relatives. 
The  bleak  structure  is  well  enough  preserved  to  give  one 
an  idea  of  the  way  in  which  Eastern  tyrants  treated  politi- 
cal prisoners.  The  upper  section  is  about  forty  feet  square 
and  far  below  the  level  of  the  ground.  The  entrance  is  a 
trap  door.  The  lower  section,  a  deep  cellar  underneath  the 
first,  is  twenty  feet  square  and  pitch  dark.  The  prisoners 
had  to  be  lowered  into  it  by  means  of  ropes.  Bokhara  an- 
nals relate  that  Nasrullah  considered  incarceration  in  such 
a  dungeon  insufficient  punishment  for  rebels.  He  there- 
fore filled  it  with  rats,  snakes,  and  other  vermin.  When 
the  dungeon  was  unoccupied  the  pests  were  kept  in  con- 
dition by  being  fed  on  raw  meat!  I  peer  into  the  black  pit 
and  think  of  the  hundreds  of  fighters  for  a  truly  noble 
Bokhara  who  had  suffered  within  its  walls  and  I  realize 
that  this  dungeon  built  by  Nasrullah  Khan  is  actually 
more  symbolical  of  old  Bokhara  than  all  the  exotic  sights 
I  am  likely  to  see  here  during  my  journey. 

In  the  distance  looms  the  Tower  of  Death,  the  highest 
building  in  Bokhara.  They  threw  criminals  from  the  top 
of  that  tower,  and  at  times  also  political  rebels  and  re- 
ligious heretics.  In  that  tower,  they  impaled  people,  vio- 
lated girls,  killed  unfortunates  by  the  score.  There  is  one 
spot  in  that  tower  where  they  punished  thieves  by  chop- 
ping off  their  fingers  or  arms  before  taking  them  through 
the  streets  as  object  lessons  for  the  populace.  Yet  in  spite 
of  all  these  cruel  punishments,  Bokhara  was  proverbially 
a  land  of  lawlessness.  No  law-making  body,  except  the 
Emir;  no  law,  except  the  shariat  (interpretation  of  the 
Koran)  and  the  adat  (common  law);  no  personal  or  prop- 
erty rights,  except  those  granted  at  the  despot's  will.  Any 
one  could  at  any  time  be  seized,  flogged,  clapped  in  jail, 
deprived  of  his  property,  beheaded  at  the  behest  of  the 
Emir.  There  were  no  elective  offices  of  any  kind.  As  in  all 
arbitrarily  ruled  countries,  graft,  bribery,  corruption, 
venality  and  violence  were  rife  in  Bokhara. 

A  characteristic  feature:  the  judge  (generally  a  mullah) 


28  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

in  pronouncing  sentence  also  determined  the  amount  of 
the  fine,  a  part  of  which  was  to  go  into  his  own  pocket. 
The  fine  was  presumably  in  proportion  to  the  punishment, 
and  it  was  quite  natural  therefore  for  the  judges  not  to  be 
chary  of  handing  out  severe  sentences  and  collecting  heavy 
fines.  Justice  was  candidly  class  justice.  A  transgression 
which  in  the  case  of  a  rich  defendant  incurred  the  mildest 
reprimand— the  mere  fact  of  his  being  haled  before  the 
court  not  infrequently  having  been  regarded  as  sufficient 
punishment— involved  in  the  case  of  the  poor  man  severe 
flogging  and  imprisonment.  Fine,  imprisonment,  flogging, 
drafting  into  the  army  for  life-long  service,  execution— 
these  were  the  most  usual  and  frequent  punishments.  The 
venality  and  the  cruelty  of  the  courts  were  such  that  the 
population,  particularly  the  poorer  classes,  feared  them 
more  than  the  plague.  In  the  villages  the  peasants  would 
most  often  settle  their  disputes  by  arbitration,  thus  avoid- 
ing the  paying  of  extortionate  fines  to  the  Emir's  mullah- 
judges. 


Peoples  and  Conquerors 

On  my  way  back  to  the  center  of  the  city  the  memory 
of  Nasrullah  Khan  and  his  weird  dungeon  haunts  me. 
"Elsewhere  light  descends  upon  the  earth,  but  from  Bo- 
khara it  ascends,"  says  a  native  proverb.  And  another  de- 
clares that  "Whoever  says  Bokhara's  walls  are  not  straight, 
he  is  cast  out  of  God."  I  think  of  the  past:  numerous 
peoples  and  nationalities  hemmed  in  by  hungry  steppes 
and  impenetrable  mountain  ranges;  living  in  poverty, 
darkness,  bigotry;  exploited  by  a  host  of  feudal  landlords, 
merchants,  mullahs  and  tax-collectors;  kept  enslaved  by 
continuous  artificially  stimulated  racial  and  religious  dis- 
sension; decimated  by  malaria,  dysentery,  typhoid  and  a 
hundred  other  plagues;  tortured  by  fleas,  lice,  scorpions, 
jackals,  wild  boars,  vermin  and  beasts  of  every  other  kind 
and  description. 

In  the  accepted  literature— exotic  tales  of  peoples  and 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  2  9 

conquerors;  underneath— millennia  of  destruction,  pov- 
erty, slavery;  mountains  of  corpses;  oceans  of  blood.  And 
my  first  morning  impressions  of  Bokhara's  "eternal  same- 
ness" were  also  more  than  a  little  nonsensical — an  idealiza- 
tion of  a  quiescence  that  has  simply  not  existed.  Surely 
even  here  man's  spirit  has  manifested  itself  periodically 
with  cataclysmic  violence  and  incandescent  brilliance. 
More  than  once  had  the  blue  cupola  of  silent  years  over 
the  land  been  shattered  by  the  thunder  and  lightning  of 
momentous  mass  eruptions. 

As  far  back  as  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  the  Iranian 
peoples  here— the  Tadjiks— had  formed  a  number  of  pow- 
erful states— Baktriana,  Transoxiana,  Sogdiana— the  fame 
of  which  resounded  throughout  the  then  known  world. 
Roads  renowned  in  history,  joining  India  with  China, 
had  wound  their  way  through  these  regions— arteries  of 
trade  and  commerce,  sources  of  wealth  and  power  for  the 
states  through  which  they  ran.  A  great  blessing  these  roads 
were,  but  also  a  great  curse:  the  countless  peoples  migrat- 
ing interminably  from  the  depths  of  Asia  swirled  along 
them,  sweeping  everything  before  them  in  their  path, 
destroying  cities  and  states,  and  forming  new  ones  in  their 
stead,  which  in  turn  were  overwhelmed  by  the  next  wave 
of  still  fresh  and  vigorous  migrants,  and  so  on  through  the 
ages.  Medeans,  Persians,  Tokhars,  Greeks,  Parthians, 
Huns,  Turkomans,  Chinese,  Arabs,  Mongols,  Russians- 
all  of  these  and  more  had  at  one  time  or  another  moved  in 
hordes  along  these  roads;  some  vanishing  without  a  trace, 
others  settling  and  amalgamating  with  the  older  dwellers. 

Alexander  the  Great— Alexander  the  Two-Horned  in 
native  legend— founded  here  a  number  of  cities  in  which 
fourteen  thousand  Greeks  had  settled  and  finally  merged 
with  the  Baktrians,  but  not  without  leaving  some  impres- 
sion on  the  culture  of  the  country.  In  the  seventh  and 
eighth  centuries  the  Arabs  came  and  formed  the  flourish- 
ing state  of  Maverannger.  In  the  frenzy  of  religious  prose- 
lytism,  they  extirpated  Parsism,  Buddhism,  Mazdaism, 
Nestorian  Christianity  and  proclaimed  the  everlasting 
glory  of  Allah  and  his  Prophet.  But  the  Arabs,  too,  like 


gO  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  Greeks  and  the  others,  were  absorbed,  assimilated. 
Only  a  few  of  them  have  remained,  kinsmen  of  the 
Prophet,  still  cherishing  a  semblance  of  their  ancient 
Arabian  tongue.  Then  the  Karliuks  swooped  down  upon 
the  land.  In  the  tenth  century  it  was  they  who  were  in  the 
zenith  of  power.  But  like  water  in  the  surrounding  deserts, 
they  too  were  swallowed  by  the  older  population  and  only 
seven  thousand  of  them  have  survived  in  what  was  for- 
merly eastern  Bokhara,  now  Tadjikistan.  Then  toward 
the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century  came  the  vast 
Mongolian  hordes  led  by  the  great  conqueror  Ghengis 
Khan.  And  after  him,  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  Timur,  or  Tamerlane. 

The  historians  grow  ecstatic  when  they  speak  of  Tam- 
erlane. He  was  "the  most  amazing  conqueror  the  world  has 
ever  seen,"  writes  one,  "for  he  sacked  Moscow  one  summer 
and  was  at  the  gates  of  Delhi  (India)  the  next;  he  de- 
throned no  less  than  twenty-seven  kings  and  even  har- 
nessed kings  to  his  chariot."  And  another  writes  of  the 
"glorious  pages  Tamerlane  had  written  into  the  history  of 
Central  Asia."  One  of  Tamerlane's  chief  sports  was  to 
bury  alive  hundreds  of  captives  or  to  pile  up  huge  pyra- 
mids of  living  people  and  pour  clay  mixed  with  debris 
over  them.  True,  he  created  an  ephemeral  empire  which 
extended  from  Mongolia  to  Syria  and  included  India  and 
Russia,  but  at  what  price  for  the  people  who  fought  his 
battles!  True,  in  Samarkand  and  elsewhere  he  built  great 
and  beautiful  monuments  for  himself  and  his  kin,  but  he 
built  them  on  the  dead  bodies  of  millions  of  anonymous 
and  forgotten  subjects.  And  now  only  a  few  magnificent 
ruins  remain  to  tell  the  Soviet  children  of  Uzbekistan  the 
sanguinary  story  of  Tamerlane's  exploits. 

Then  came  Sheiharri-Khan  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
leading  the  nomad  Uzbek  tribes.  This  was  no  temporary 
invasion,  but  a  permanent  occupation.  The  Uzbek  tribes 
settled  in  Central  Asia  and  made  Bokhara  their  capital. 
The  ancient  Maverannger  vanished:  it  was  replaced  by 
the  Bokhara  Khanate  of  the  Uzbeks.  The  Uzbeks  formed 
other  khanates,  those  of  Khiva,  of  Kokand,  etc.  The  Tadjiks 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  31 

who  had  successfully  absorbed  all  the  other  invaders  had 
to  yield  to  the  superior  numbers  of  the  Tiurko-Mongols. 
Great  and  fundamental  changes  in  the  life  and  culture  of 
the  country  were  brought  about  by  the  new  invaders.  The 
Uzbeks  had  marked  their  arrival  by  the  razing  of  cities, 
the  destruction  of  the  elaborate  system  of  irrigation.  Re- 
treating before  the  horrors  of  the  Tiurko-Mongolian  con- 
quests, the  Tadjiks  fled  into  the  ravines  and  caves  of  the 
Hindukush  and  Alexander  mountain  ranges.  The  whole 
composition  of  the  population  in  Bokhara  changed:  the 
Tadjiks  had  permanently  retired  into  the  mountains,  and 
the  Uzbeks  now  filled  the  plains.  Yet,  strangely  enough,  it 
was  the  culture,  the  habits,  the  religion  of  the  Tadjiks 
that  ultimately  survived  in  Bokhara,  and  the  official  lan- 
guage in  the  Bokhara  Khanate  and  of  the  upper  and  more 
cultured  classes  of  the  Uzbeks  was  not  Uzbek  but  Tadjik. 
Thus  came  into  existence  in  the  seventeenth  century  the 
theocratic,  patriarchal  Uzbek  Khanates  in  Central  Asia. 
Nasrullah-Khan  was  only  one  in  a  long  line  of  despots. 
The  khans  of  Kokand  and  Khiva  were  fully  his  match  in 
tyrannizing  over  enslaved  peoples. 


The  White  Czar 

It  was  in  the  reign  of  Nasrullah-Khan  that  the  last  major 
invasion  of  Central  Asia  came  to  a  head.  Russia's  cynical 
seizure  of  the  three  Central  Asian  Moslem  khanates — 
Kokand,  Bokhara,  and  Khiva— and  heedless  expropriation 
of  the  semi-nomad  Kirghiz,  Turkoman,  and  Uzbek  tribes 
are  among  the  blackest  pages  in  the  gruesome  history  of 
Czarist  imperialism.  As  far  back  as  1717,  Peter  the  First 
attempted  to  worm  his  way  into  Central  Asia  by  siding 
with  one  khan  against  another  and  mixing  up  in  their 
feuds.  But  only  disaster  came  of  that.  His  successors  found 
it  advisable  to  go  on  with  their  "civilizing  mission"  a  little 
more  cautiously,  creeping  up  slowly  but  inexorably  from 
Siberia  and  the  Urals  in  the  North  and  the  Caspian  in 


32  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  West,  and  steadily  crushing  the  age-long  "anarchy" 
created  by  "those  semi-nomadic,  marauding"  Asiatics. 

First  the  Kirghiz  were  smashed.  A  few  years  later  the 
Czar  had  his  troops  on  Syr-Daria.  After  that  began  the 
conquest  of  the  khanates.  In  the  sixties  Kokand  was  bat- 
tered, and  two  of  its  most  important  towns— Turkestan 
and  Tashkent— were  wrenched  away.  Learning  from  Eng- 
land's imperialist  policy,  Russia  avoided  noisy  public  an- 
nexations, and  allowed  situations  created  by  victories  "to 
ripen."  Beaten  and  robbed,  the  Khan  of  Kokand  became 
an  abject  slave  of  Russia.  But  in  1873-1874  he  was  forced 
into  a  struggle  with  his  subjects  who  were  exasperated  by 
Russian  imperialist  aggression.  In  1875  another,  a  more 
general,  revolt  took  place.  The  Khan,  abandoned  even  by 
his  two  sons,  who  joined  the  insurgents,  quitted  his  capital 
with  his  harem  and  his  treasures  and  took  refuge  under 
the  wing  of  the  Russian  Czar.  The  insurrection  was 
crushed  by  the  invading  troops,  and  Kokand  was  formally 
annexed  to  the  Romanov  Empire. 

Bokhara  was  gobbled  up  in  1868.  The  Emir's  frantic 
efforts  to  raise  a  defensive  holy  war  against  the  Russian 
"infidels"  were  vain.  In  the  end  he  was  forced  to  cede  to 
the  Czar  the  larger  part  of  his  khanate,  including  Samar- 
kand, to  open  the  markets  of  the  remaining  part  to  Rus- 
sian merchants,  and  pay  an  indemnity  of  two  million 
rubles.  The  Emir  of  Bokhara  became  a  vassal  of  the  Czar. 

Finally,  in  1873,  came  Khiva's  turn.  The  Khan  of 
Khiva,  too,  had  to  accept  the  suzerainty  of  the  Czar. 

In  the  meantime,  Alexander  II  had  created  in  Tash- 
kent the  government  of  Turkestan,  headed  by  a  sort  of 
vice-emperor,  whose  pomp  and  magnificence  were  calcu- 
lated to  give  to  the  natives  an  exalted  idea  of  their  real 
sovereign,  the  "Great  White  Czar"!  After  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  Central  Asia  finally  lay  prostrate  at  the 
feet  of  the  Romanovs. 

Here  the  Czar's  government,  instead  of  its  usual  policy 
of  Russification,  adopted  a  policy  similar  to  that  of  the 
French  in  Algeria.  Legally  and  geographically,  the  native 
peoples  were  kept  segregated  from  the  Russian  invaders 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  gg 

and  allowed  to  retain  their  old  Moslem  forms  of  life.  Rus- 
sia's "civilizing  mission"  reduced  itself  to  economic  ex- 
ploitation of  the  natives  through  their  rulers.  On  the  very 
rare  occasions  (1898  and  1916)  when  the  frantic  natives 
broke  out  in  revolt,  the  Czar's  government  resorted  to 
savage  repression,  annihilating  whole  villages  and  killing 
native  peasants  by  the  hundreds. 

With  the  growth  of  Russian  capitalism,  Turkestan  and, 
in  a  lesser  degree,  Bokhara  and  Khiva  were  converted  into 
a  source  of  raw  materials,  especially  cotton,  for  Russian 
industry.  The  development  of  native  manufactories  was 
artificially  blocked;  the  manufacture  of  textiles  in  these 
territories  was  prohibited  altogether.  While  many  Russian 
manufacturers  and  a  few  native  merchants  made  large  for- 
tunes, the  Central  Asian  masses  remained  wretchedly  poor. 
The  peasantry  was  progressively  pauperized,  ground  down 
by  an  army  of  native  money-lenders,  who  acted  as  middle- 
men between  the  peasants  and  the  Russian  cotton  indus- 
trialists. 

The  natural  economy  of  the  Bokharan  villages  was 
being  rapidly  modified;  industrial  crops,  especially  cot- 
ton, and  an  exchange  economy  began  to  play  an  increas- 
ingly important  role.  The  Russian  capitalists  were  opening 
banks,  trading  posts,  offices  in  Bokhara,  buying  up  the 
raw  cotton  from  the  peasants  and  selling  them  in  return 
manufactured  products.  The  economic  and  social  struc- 
ture of  Bokhara  was  beginning  to  change.  Something 
parallel  to  what  had  happened  previously  in  Turkestan 
was  now  taking  place  in  Bokhara:  growth  of  commercial 
capital,  disintegration  of  the  feudal  and  patriarchal  rela- 
tions, pauperization  of  the  peasant  masses,  and  the  sharp 
differentiation  of  the  village  population  into  the  extremely 
poor,  the  landless,  the  tenant  farmers,  at  the  one  pole,  and 
the  rapidly  prospering  landlords  and  kulak  class,  at  the 
opposite. 

Cotton-growing  requires  a  good  deal  of  preliminary 
labor  and  capital  investment.  Since  the  Bokharan  peasants 
were  poor,  they  naturally  had  to  rely  on  advance  credit. 
Even  relatively  well-to-do  peasant  households  had  to  do 


34  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

borrowing.  In  certain  regions  seventy-five  per  cent  of  the 
peasants'  total  investment  in  cotton-raising  was  on  bor- 
rowed money. 

Bokhara,  like  the  rest  of  Central  Asia,  had  evolved  spe- 
cial forms  of  credit  for  the  cotton  grower:  loans  from  pri- 
vate cotton  firms  and  loans  from  individual  usurers.  In 
describing  the  latter  form,  the  Russian  investigator,  N. 
Koryton,  wrote  in  1904: 

These  "benefactors"  help  the  native  peasant  in  the 
moment  of  his  greatest  need  by  lending  him  a  small 
sum  at  an  enormous  interest,  not  less  than  four  per 
cent  a  month.  The  transaction  takes  place  before  a 
common  judge,  and  in  the  debtor's  note  the  interest 
is  always  added  to  the  sum  borrowed.  That  is,  if  the 
sum  of  a  hundred  rubles  is  borrowed  for  one  year,  the 
note  is  made  out  for  148  rubles.  Furthermore,  if  the 
usurer  doubts  the  debtor's  paying  capacity,  he  takes 
as  security  a  mortgage  on  the  debtor's  real  property, 
at  the  same  rate  of  interest  as  above  and  at  a  valuation 
of  half  the  property's  actual  worth.  Foreclosures  of 
such  mortgages  are  the  usual  thing  here.  Russian 
usurers  have  acquired  vast  tracts  of  land  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  ruined  native  peasants. 

The  introduction  of  cotton-growing  in  Central  Asia  as  a 
whole  proved  disastrous  to  the  well-being  of  the  lower 
economic  strata.  In  the  cotton  districts  of  Turkestan,  for 
instance,  thirty  per  cent  of  the  entire  population  were 
landless,  forty  per  cent  had  only  one  head  of  cattle  per 
family  or  no  cattle  at  all,  thirty  per  cent  were  altogether 
propertyless  and  homeless.  A  vast  army  of  landless  peas- 
ants and  agricultural  workers  wandered  from  one  region 
to  another  in  search  of  jobs.  The  indebtedness  of  the  poor- 
est section  of  the  peasantry  mounted  by  almost  100  per 
cent  from  1909  to  1911.  The  same  was  true  of  Bokhara 
and  Khiva.  Peasants  lost  their  land.  Farm  tenancy  was  on 
the  increase.  Only  the  richer  peasants,  the  kulaks,  the 
beys,  those  who  could  afford  to  cultivate  cotton  without 
having  to  resort  to  loans,  found  cotton-growing  profitable. 


OLD   AND   NEW IMPRESSIONS  35 

Also,  the  usurers  and  the  Russian  firms  waxed  rich  on  cot- 
ton. For  the  majority  of  the  native  peasantry  the  transition 
of  Bokhara  from  a  primitive  natural  economy  to  com- 
mercial farming  was  the  cause  of  infinite  suffering  and 
widespread  ruin.  The  poor  were  becoming  poorer,  the 
rich  richer;  while  wealth  was  being  concentrated  in  the 
hands  of  the  Russian  bankers,  the  native  money-lenders, 
and  the  beys. 

The  fact  that  Bokhara,  like  Turkestan,  was  a  colonial 
country  made  the  situation  even  worse.  In  America,  in 
Europe,  in  Japan,  to  a  lesser  degree  in  Russia,  the  peas- 
ant's loss  of  land  was  in  a  measure  compensated  by  the 
simultaneous  growth  of  industry  which  absorbed  a  great 
deal  of  the  surplus  village  population.  In  Bokhara  this 
was  not  the  case.  The  Czar's  government  brooked  no  in- 
dustrial development  in  its  colonies;  and  the  fate  of  Bo- 
khara's peasants  was  no  concern  of  the  Romanovs. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that,  ruined,  hopeless,  and  desperate, 
the  Bokharan  peasants,  like  their  brothers  in  Fergana,  be- 
gan to  join  in  lawless  bands  of  brigands,  scouring  the  hills, 
attacking  travelers,  raiding  settlements,  robbing  the  well- 
to-do?  Many  terrible  stories  have  been  told  about  the 
notorious  bandits,  the  Basmachi,  of  Central  Asia.  But  the 
origin  of  this  great  social  evil  in  Bokhara  is  scarcely  ever 
disclosed. 

The  nomad  Kazak,  Kirghiz,  and  Turkoman  tribes  in 
the  rest  of  Central  Asia  were  even  worse  off  than  the  agri- 
cultural peoples.  Their  pastures  were  being  taken  away 
from  them  and  settled  by  Russians  from  the  over-popu- 
lated central  and  southern  districts  of  Russia.  The  govern- 
ment's purpose  was  to  reduce  the  agrarian  unrest  in 
Russia  proper  by  colonizing  new  lands.  Deprived  of  their 
pastures,  their  sole  source  of  livelihood,  the  nomads  re- 
tired farther  and  farther  into  the  barren  steppes  where 
they  were  rapidly  dying  out. 

So  it  was  for  decades  under  the  Czars  and  the  Emirs. 
Then  came  the  February  Revolution  of  1917,  and  the 
feudal  monarchy  collapsed.  Then  came  the  October  (Bol- 


3  6  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

shevik)  Revolution,  and  the  laboring  masses  of  Central 
Asia  immediately,  in  1917,  organized  a  Soviet  Government 
in  Tashkent;  in  1919,  in  Khiva;  in  1920,  in  Bokhara.  For 
the  first  time  in  their  long  history,  the  Central  Asian 
peoples  took  their  destinies  firmly  in  their  own  hands. 


Ill 

CONTRASTS 

Along  these  ancient  roads  which  have  seen  so 
many  things, 

From  China  to  Iran,  from  India  to  Turkestan, 

Across  the  whole  world  the  myriads  of  the  pro- 
letariat 

Will  pass  quick  and  fast  as  a  steel  caravan 

In  union  and  solidarity. 

These  ancient  roads  are  our  immortality. 

And  along  these  roads 

Will  pass  a  gale  of  liberty 

And  not  the  smell  of  blood. 

— GAFUR  GULAM 


Water  and  Blood 

THE  sun  has  risen  higher,  and  old  Bokhara  is  stirring 
to  life.  An  arba  appears— a  queer  wagon  on  two  huge 
wheels  as  tall  as  a  man,  hitched  to  a  camel  on  which  a 
drowsy  Uzbek,  gray  little  skull  cap  on  shaved  head  and 
tattered  cotton-padded  cloak  wrapped  about  him,  rocks 
rhythmically.  Soon  people  on  asses,  on  horses,  and  on  foot, 
begin  to  fill  the  streets.  The  bearded  patriarchs  in  their 
long  multi-colored  robes  and  huge  turbans  wound  fan- 
tastically around  their  heads  look  like  veritable  Abrahams 
or  Jacobs  out  of  the  Old  Testament.  Through  a  rickety 
gate  a  bare-foot  youngster  in  white  blouse  with  a  red 
kerchief  round  his  neck  darts  out  and  vanishes  around  the 
corner— a  little  Communist,  a  pioneer! 

And  here  is  a  chai-khanah  (tea  house),  an  open  platform 
set  high  at  the  edge  of  the  street,  spread  with  carpets  and 
blankets,  decorated  with  many  blue  china  teapots.  The 
proprietor  crouching  over  a  huge  samovar  spits  on  its  sur- 
face and  rubs  it  vigorously  with  a  soiled  towel.  Another 

37 


3  8  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

samovar  is  already  going  full  blast.  The  customers,  their 
legs  folded  under  them,  blow  into  their  pialas  (large  china 
cups  without  handles)  and  enjoy  their  national  drink, 
green  tea.  Others  are  crouching  around  the  chilim,  the 
huge  tobacco  bowl  with  rubber  pipe  attached  to  it,  wait- 
ing for  their  turns  to  take  one  long  voluptuous  suck  after 
their  tea.  The  pipe  passes  from  one  mouth  to  another, 
and  no  one  seems  to  have  any  hygienic  qualms.  Already 
two  old  fellows  are  matching  their  wits  at  the  ancient 
game  of  chess,  while  near  them  reclines  a  wandering  bard 
with  his  dutar,  chanting  lazily: 

Glory ,  glory  without  end  to  Him 

Who  blew  a  breath  of  life  into  a  handful  of  dust. 

This,  of  course,  is  not  one  of  the  Red  chai-khanahs, 
owned  by  the  State  Cooperative  and  patronized  by  the 
younger  element.  There  one  sees  colorful  posters  plastered 
all  over  the  back  wall,  ridiculing  the  beys  and  the  mullahs, 
exposing  the  machinations  of  the  English  imperialists, 
urging  preparedness  for  further  revolutionary  battle, 
preaching  collectivization,  and,  above  all,  hygiene.  There 
one  sees  stands  with  Uzbek  and  Tadjik  books  and  papers 
and  pamphlets  printed  for  the  most  part  in  the  Latin 
alphabet.  There  things  are  much  cleaner,  more  sanitary, 
"cultured."  This  obviously  is  a  private  establishment,  run 
as  it  has  been  run  here  for  ages. 

Everywhere  we  come  across  hauzehs  or  remnants  of 
hauzehs— unclean,  stagnant  pools  of  greenish  water  where 
water  boys  used  to  fill  their  sheepskins  to  carry  them  to 
the  neighboring  households.  We  come  to  the  famous 
Liabi-Hauz — Holy  Pool.  It  is  an  enormous  reservoir 
which  was  once  the  royal  water  basin.  For  hundreds  of 
years  the  city  has  drunk  its  waters  flowing  from  the  distant 
river  through  uncovered  ditches  on  the  sides  of  the  street. 
Liabi-Hauz  stands  in  the  square,  the  very  center  of  the 
city.  The  water  boys  clamber  down  its  worn  stone  steps, 
and  with  a  skillful  movement  of  their  bodies  dip  their 
goat  skins  and  fill  them.  Then  they  carry  them  to  all  parts 
of  the  city  loudly  proclaiming  their  wares.  When  the 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  39 

water  boy  finds  a  customer,  he  bends  his  sweating  bag, 
and  out  of  the  opening,  once  the  throat  of  a  goat  or  a 
sheep,  water  pours  into  the  earthenware  pitcher.  Seeing 
those  disease-bearing  pools  of  filth  and  being  nauseated  by 
their  stench,  I  understand  the  pride  of  the  local  residents 
in  the  huge  water  tower,  erected  in  1929,  opposite  the 
Emir's  palace,  on  the  city's  main  square.  Such  an  ugly 
water  tower  in  such  a  prominent  place  would  be  incon- 
ceivable in  any  other  city  in  the  world.  But  in  Bokhara 
water  is  precious.  Bokhara  stands  in  an  arid  desert.  Water 
is  its  wealth,  its  strength.  The  canals  are  its  arteries;  water, 
its  blood.  And  to  the  Bokharans,  even  to  Russians  living 
in  Bokhara,  nothing  less  than  the  main  square  would  be 
an  appropriate  place  for  such  a  tower. 

A  wreath  of  stories  and  legends  has  been  woven  around 
Liabi-Hauz.  In  popular  imagination  the  fate  of  almost 
every  historical  personage  in  Central  Asia  is  in  one  way 
or  another  bound  up  with  this  source  of  Bokhara's  life. 
This  is  how  a  contemporary  Bokharan  novelist  writes 
about  Liabi-Hauz: 

The  Liabi-Hauz  was  dug  by  the  Christians  who  fled 
here  from  the  fires  and  the  lions  of  pagan  Rome.  Ex- 
hausted by  thirst,  frenzied  by  the  thousands  of  miles 
they  had  traversed,  they  dug  here  a  ditch  with  bare 
hands,  bare  fingers.  But  they  reached  no  water.  And 
they  filled  the  ditch  with  the  tears  of  anger  and  the 
most  transparent  of  tears— the  tears  of  impotence.  The 
old  men  maintain  that  even  now  the  water  of  Liabi- 
Hauz  is  different  from  that  of  any  other  pool.  It  is 
transparent  and  bitterish  like  tears. 

The  pagans  who  came  here  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
Two-Horned  Alexander  to  make  war,  themselves 
drank  and  watered  their  horses  from  this  pool. 

Genghis  Khan,  displeased  by  the  resistance  of  the 
inhabitants,  made  an  oath  that  he  would  not  rest  until 
the  blood  of  his  enemies  reached  his  horse's  knees. 
Corpses  were  piled  up  higher  than  the  houses,  but  the 
blood,  instead  of  flowing  along  the  land,  was  soaked 
into  it.  There  were  no  more  heads  to  be  chopped. 
The  conqueror's  oath  seemed  unrealizable.  And  then 


4O  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

Genghis  rode  into  Liabi-Hauz  and  halted— the  water 
almost  reached  the  horse's  knees.  Forty  boys,  forty 
youths,  forty  adults  and  forty  old  men  were  beheaded 
over  the  water  of  Liabi-Hauz.  Their  blood  coloring 
the  water  reached  his  horse's  knees. 

And  the  crippled  Timur  made  an  ablution  in 
Liabi-Hauz  before  he  went  out  to  conquer  the  world. 
He  had  been  told  that  only  he  would  subjugate  the 
earth  who  passed  through  the  black  tears  of  anger  and 
through  the  most  transparent  of  tears— the  tears  of 
impotence. 

In  the  years  of  the  Civil  War  when  the  grenades  set 
the  Ark  on  fire,  Liabi-Hauz  was  filled  with  fire-brands, 
weapons  and  treasures. 

Liabi-Hauz  was  the  last  pool  into  which  the  last 
Emir,  Said-Alim  Khan,  spat  when  he  abandoned  his 
capital  forever. 

Now  the  water  carriers  are  quarreling  and  resting 
here.  What  have  they  to  do  with  legends,  with  the 
past;  with  the  tears,  the  blood,  and  the  spit  left  here! 
Do  we  ever  stop  to  think  while  quenching  our  thirst 
about  the  hands  that  had  dug  this  pool? 

Those  hands  are  gone.  Only  the  gray  stones  that 
frame  Liabi-Hauz  lie  here  as  of  yore. 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Ark 

By  midday,  the  bazaar,  through  which  we  are  now  mak- 
ing our  way,  is  swarming  with  people— the  majority  are 
Uzbeks,  but  there  are  some  Kirghiz,  Bokharan  Jews, 
Tadjiks  and  Russians.  Most  of  these  gaily  attired  natives 
are  distinctly  Mongolian;  there  are,  however,  quite  a  few 
of  Iranian  origin— round  heads,  oval-shaped  faces,  strong, 
prominent,  straight  noses,  broad  foreheads,  and  big  eyes 
set  in  large  orbits.  The  latter  are  for  the  most  part  dark, 
though  occasionally  one  encounters  a  reddish-haired  and 
blue-eyed  native.  These  are  mountain  Tadjiks,  the  purest 
type  of  the  Iranian  aborigines  in  Central  Asia.  A  fine, 
graceful  lot.  You  will  scarcely  find  a  fat  or  flabby  specimen 
amongst  them.  Their  long,  well-developed  arms  and  legs 


OLD   AND   NEW IMPRESSIONS  41 

come  from  mountain  climbing,  hunting  and  swimming. 
Some  Tadjiks,  though,  the  valley  Tadjiks,  are  more  of  a 
Mongolian  cast:  high  cheek-bones,  flat  noses,  narrow  eyes- 
centuries  of  mixing  with  the  Uzbeks  and  Kirghiz.  When 
in  doubt,  one  can  distinguish  the  valley  Tadjik  from  the 
Uzbek  by  the  Tadjik's  heavier  growth  of  beard. 

Around  us  there  is  arduous  selling,  buying,  haggling, 
shouting.  Occasionally  the  violent  honking  of  an  automo- 
bile creates  something  in  the  nature  of  a  peristaltic  move- 
ment down  the  street.  Like  a  huge  morsel  in  a  narrow 
gullet,  the  car  makes  its  way  slowly  through  the  dense 
crowd  which  gives  way  in  front  of  the  car  and  immedi- 
ately draws  together  behind  it— it  seems  another  Soviet 
official  will  once  more  be  late  to  still  another  conference. 

A  beautiful  girl,  escorted  by  a  rather  proud-looking 
fellow  in  Young  Communist  uniform,  arrests  my  atten- 
tion. She  and  her  companion  are  Bokharan  Jews  whom  my 
companion  Shokhor  seems  to  know,  for,  in  the  manner  of 
the  natives,  he  places  his  hand  on  his  breast  and  bows 
very  courteously.  Not  so  many  years  ago,  Jews  in  Bokhara 
(not  Russian  Jews,  but  natives)  were  forced  to  live  in  a 
ghetto,  were  not  allowed  to  enter  the  Moslem  section  of 
the  city  after  sunset,  or  ride  on  horseback,  or  to  appear 
without  a  rope  around  their  waists  as  a  sign  of  humilia- 
tion, or,  at  one  time,  without  wearing  a  headgear  of  pre- 
scribed form,  color,  and  material.  Now  all  this  has  been 
swept  away  by  the  Revolution.  No  more  humiliation,  no 
more  persecution— equality. 

In  front  of  the  Workers'  Cooperative,  of  the  Uzbek  State 
Trading  Company,  stands  an  Uzbek  in  high  canvas  boots, 
dark  trousers,  and  white  blouse  of  the  militiaman.  Here 
and  there  one  sees  the  khaki  uniform  of  a  native  Red 
Army  man.  As  elsewhere  in  the  Soviet  Union  and  perhaps 
even  a  little  more,  the  Red  Army  man  here  is  treated  with 
love  and  pride.  The  proximity  to  the  border,  I  suppose. 
All  along  is  the  bizarre  commingling  of  the  receding  and 
the  emergent,  the  old  and  the  new.  Shokhor  is  indefati- 
gable in  pointing  out  every  Soviet  institution,  every  school, 
R,ed  chai-khanah,  every  newspaper  kiosk,  the  union  head- 


42  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

quarters,  the  Uzbek  library  and  of  course  every  unveiled 
woman  we  meet. 

Nearby,  crowning  a  high  hill,  are  the  black  ruins  of  the 
Emir's  castle,  the  "Ark,"  including  the  harem,  the  state 
prison,  and  the  Emir's  treasury,  and  encircled  by  a  crum- 
bling loess  wall  about  seventy  feet  high.  The  ruins  lie 
there  just  as  they  were  left  in  1920,  when  the  palace  was 
half  destroyed  by  a  people  in  revolt.  Inside,  the  rooms 
have  been  renovated.  The  Regional  Executive  Committee 
of  the  Soviets  has  its  offices  there,  above  the  dungeon.  The 
ancient  walls  are  decorated  with  graphs  and  revolutionary 
posters.  Young  Bolsheviks  are  scurrying  through  the  halls. 
Delegations  of  workers,  of  peasants,  of  unveiled  women 
come  and  go  in  an  endless  procession.  The  atmosphere 
here  is  that  of  any  Soviet  institution  anywhere  in  the 
Great  Union.  As  we  go  out  we  see  urchins  digging  in  the 
debris,  hunting  for  souvenirs.  One  of  them  unearths  a 
fragment  of  a  pitcher  decorated  with  the  Emir's  arms,  an- 
other, the  inlaid  handle  of  a  knife.  Through  the  fine  loess 
dust  gleam  the  Tower  of  Death  and  the  beautiful  Meshit- 
i-Kalan  mosque  next  to  it.  We  sit  down  to  chat  and  rest 
in  the  shadow  of  the  ruins.  From  the  square  below  come 
the  incessant  clanging  of  the  coppersmiths,  the  loud  blare 
of  a  Red  Army  band,  and  the  sweet  odor  of  shashlik,  and 
far  above  shines  a  silver  plane,  winging  its  way  to  Samar- 
kand, to  Tashkent,  to  Chelkar,  to  Samara,  to  Moscow. 


Unreasonable  Human  Herd 

Everything  seems  peaceful  in  Bokhara.  Yet  I  know  that 
only  yesterday  some  beys  (rich  individual  peasants)  and 
some  traitorous  officials  were  executed  by  the  Soviets. 
Everything  seems  tranquil  here,  yet  every  item  in  the  local 
papers  is  proof  of  the  progressively  mounting  impact  of 
the  revolution  in  the  deserts,  mountains,  and  valleys  sur- 
rounding Bokhara.  Everything  seems  quiet  here,  yet  I 
know  that  in  adjacent  Tadjikistan,  formerly  Eastern  Bo- 
khara, the  peasants  and  the  Red  Army  are  scouring  the 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  43 

hills  in  pursuit  of  Ibrahim  Bek,  a  notorious  brigand,  and 
his  armed  detachment  who  had  recently  come  from 
Afghanistan  to  disturb  the  collectivization  campaign  and 
to  start  a  counter-revolution. 

I  ask  Shokhor  about  Ibrahim  Bek:  Who  are  his  backers? 
To  which  strata  of  Central  Asian  society  does  he  appeal? 
Are  his  slogans  economic  or  religious  or  nationalist? 

But  Shokhor  is  not  eager  to  talk  about  Ibrahim.  He 
suggests  that  I  wait  till  I  get  to  Tadjikistan  to  find  ade- 
quate answers  to  my  questions.  "Meanwhile,"  he  advises, 
"better  prepare  a  background.  To  understand  Ibrahim 
Bek,  you  must  understand  the  specific  nature  of  the  Bo- 
kharan  Revolution.  Ibrahim  is  not  merely  an  echo  of  the 
past.  His  adventure  is  bloody  proof  that  civil  war  and 
imperialist  intervention  are  still  gruesome  realities  here. 
To  understand  what's  happening  now  in  the  mountains 
of  Tadjikistan,  you  must  first  penetrate  to  the  very  soul  of 
ancient,  fanatical,  obfuscated  Central  Asia.  For  a  foreigner, 
this  is  an  almost  impossible  task.  I  am  an  outsider  myself, 
a  Russian,  and  personally,  I  have  found  contemporary 
native  art— folk  songs,  folk  poems,  ordinary  letters  written 
by  one  native  to  another— much  more  revealing  of  the 
Central  Asian  revolution  than  anything  one  can  read  in 
the  official  press  or  observe  with  his  own  eyes." 

Here  Shokhor  shows  me  the  booklets  which  he  carries 
under  his  arm — a  number  of  anthologies  of  local  poetry 
and  prose— songs  of  mountaineers,  songs  of  water-carriers, 
mule-drivers,  peasants,  collective  farmers,  unveiled  women, 
short  stories,  sketches,  fragments  from  novels. 

"If  you  wish  to  get  the  real  feeling  of  the  clash  between 
the  old  and  the  new  in  Bokhara,"  he  exclaims,  while 
impatiently  flipping  the  pages  of  Lapin's  Story  of  the 
Pamir,  "this  is  the  stuff  to  read.  Some  of  it  is  unforget- 
tably, poignantly  beautiful.  And  as  a  reflection  of  the 
revolution,  I  know  nothing  to  equal  it." 

Shokhor 's  eyes  sparkle,  when  he  finally  finds  the  piece 
he  is  looking  for. 

"Here,  for  example,  you  have  the  spirit  of  the  old,  the 
counter-revolution,  at  its  best,  its  sincerest.  It's  a  magnifi- 


44  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

cent  piece  of  Oriental  writing.  Not  until  I  read  it,  did  I 
realize  how  appealing,  how  persuasive  and  how  dangerous 
therefore  our  enemy  can  be.  Read  it,  you  must  read  it," 
he  shoves  the  book  into  my  hands.  "And  don't  be  afraid  to 
yield  to  its  insidious  charm.  I'll  give  you  an  antidote  as 
soon  as  you  are  through." 

What  Shokhor  hands  me  is  a  reprint  of  a  letter  written 
in  1924  by  the  Tadjik  Bakhrom  Amri-Khudoiev  of  Cold 
Springs,  on  the  Pamir,  to  his  Tadjik  kinsman  Sobyr  Djon, 
a  student  at  the  Central  Asian  Communist  University  at 
Tashkent.  On  the  eve  of  the  October  Revolution,  Sobyr 
Djon  had  left  his  native  Tadjik  village  and  went  to  Bo- 
khara to  prepare  for  the  career  of  a  Moslem  divine.  In 
Bokhara  he  fell  under  the  influence  of  the  underground 
liberal  movement  among  the  Moslems,  known  as  the 
Djadid  movement.  As  the  Revolution  unfolded,  Sobyr 
Djon,  together  with  many  of  his  colleagues,  gradually  ad- 
vanced toward  an  enthusiastic  acceptance  of  the  principles 
of  Bolshevism.  He  took  an  active  part  in  the  overthrow  of 
the  Emir,  as  well  as  in  the  Civil  War  that  raged  in  Bokhara 
several  years  after  the  establishment  of  the  Bokhara  Peo- 
ple's Soviet  Republic.  By  1924  Sobyr  Djon  was  a  student 
at  the  Communist  University.  In  1927  he  died  of  typhoid 
fever.  Khudoiev's  letter  was  found  among  Sobyr  Djon's 
papers  and  turned  over  to  the  archives  of  the  City  of 
Tashkent.  It  was  first  published  in  1930  by  the  Russian 
traveler  Boris  Lapin  in  his  Story  of  the  Pamir.  It  reads: 

In  the  Name  of  the  Merciful  God,  His  Name  be 
Blessed!  From  Bakhrom,  the  Bek  of  Cold  Springs,  to  his 
beloved  and  wise  teacher,  Sobyr-Djon,  son  of  Shod  Ma- 
khmad,  of  Cold  Springs,  blessings  and  greetings. 

I  hasten  to  communicate  to  you  the  news  that  the  old 
Visir  Bobo  has  gathered  the  autumn  yield  from  nineteen 
mulberry  trees,  and  has  filled  his  bins  so  as  to  last  until 
next  spring.  Also  in  exchange  for  two  donkey-loads  of  salt, 
he  has  sold  the  dried  oatmeal  to  some  travelers  from  the 
land  of  Vakhi. 

These  Vakhi  people  told  us  of  Russians  stationed  in 


OLD   AND   NEW IMPRESSIONS  45 

their  country,  who  were  taking  count  of  the  number  of 
smoking  chimneys,  hoofs  and  human  souls. 

There  is  also  a  rumor  that  the  Russians  will  tax  our 
hills.  This  rumor  comes  from  the  Ishan-Khodja  of  the 
Upper  Vakhi. 

In  view  of  all  these  tales  we  have  decided  to  address  you 
this  epistle,  hoping  God  is  Merciful,  and  the  Russians  will 
deliver  it  as  far  as  Podnojie  Druzhby. 

O  Mullah,  Mullah!  Will  you  ever  come  back  to  this 
House  of  Sorrow?  Where  waters  tumultuously  rush  by, 
and  your  brothers  are  dying?  Where  sheep  are  grazing, 
and  wolves  are  feasting? 

You  were  our  beacon  when  the  world  was  a  gloomy 
cavern,  and  you  have  failed  us  as  deeply  as  we  had  believed 
in  you. 

O  Mullah!  Will  you,  drunk  with  the  odor  of  musk, 
still  remember  the  faint  aroma  of  the  syndjid  tree  whose 
fruit  you  had  loved  so  well  as  a  boy? 

Then  you,  as  all  of  us,  did  not  allow  your  imagination 
to  soar  beyond  the  Tzygan  glacier  or  the  mountain  pass 
of  Lysia  Smert. 

Do  you  remember  the  day  when  your  knapsack  was 
filled,  and  old  Mo-Beebee  gave  you  the  bast-shoes  which 
she  had  herself  woven  with  her  infirm  hands? 

You  were  then  a  mere  little  crow,  the  first  to  leave  the 
old  rookery. 

You  were  the  first  spring  waft  to  leave  the  home  of  the 
four  winds,  the  first  copper  penny  out  of  the  pauper's 
bone-framed  purse. 

That  was  a  joyous  occasion,  because  you  were  the  first 
of  our  ravine  before  whom  were  to  open  the  glamorous 
gates  of  the  Veritable  Book. 

For  seven  long  years  you  were  away  from  your  native 
hamlet.  Those  were  seven  years  of  daily  waiting. 

The  dying  fought  death.  The  women  in  agonizing  labor 
pains  aided  nature  to  heighten  the  great  happiness  of  your 
homecoming. 

But  you  never  came  back  to  teach  us  the  intricacies,  nor 
to  illumine  the  darkness  of  our  faith. 


46  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Then  I,  your  old  friend,  followed  in  your  footsteps,  and 
twelve  days  later  I  reached  Garm.  The  town  was  then  in 
the  hands  of  the  Bek  Ubaidullah. 

You  were  not  there.  You  had  gone  forth  still  farther,  to 
Kokand. 

I  remained  at  Garm  to  study  in  the  midst  of  ten-year- 
olds. 

Later  we  heard  that  you  had  come  back  to  Karategin,  in 
the  year  when  Said-Emir  was  banished,  and  that  you  were 
then  helping  the  Russians  to  conquer  Moslem  lands.  (A 
great  unforgivable  sin!) 

Then  your  letter  came  to  tell  us  of  your  sojourn  in  the 
thrice  damned  Red  House  of  Science  in  Tashkent.  Amen. 
May  Allah  be  praised! 

Truly  these  are  the  very  forty  thousand  years  of  ill  grace, 
as  the  exalted  Mukhammad  Boo  Khanifi  used  to  say.  (May 
his  soul  rest  in  peace.) 

The  women  are  filled  with  white  rot— the  men  are  de- 
caying stalks. 

The  cruel  war  has  destroyed  piety,  and  sowed  thorns  on 
the  Moslem  flax  fields. 

We  lived  in  dependence  and  happy  poverty. 

The  mighty  were  strong  like  oaks,  and  we,  the  poor  and 
weak,  clung  to  them  like  young  shoots  of  ivy. 

Before  my  eyes  were  hundreds  of  milestones  erected  by 
the  teachers  of  the  world.  Now,  like  a  madman  on  ruins, 
I  know  not  where  the  sun  rises  and  where  it  sets. 

I  am  terrified  by  the  valleys.  Menacing  boars  of  faithless- 
ness trample  our  meager  fields.  Bewilderment  assails  us, 
and  you  are  not  here,  O  Mullah,  to  teach  knowledge  and 
faith. 

You  have  betrayed  us! 

You  were  a  rock,  but  turned  into  a  bog.  We  do  not 
know  who  tempted  you,  and  wherein  did  you  find  allure- 
ment. 

In  your  letter  I  felt  the  spirit  of  swine  eaters,  heretics 
and  false  commentators  of  the  Law. 

Cursed  be  he  who  taught  you  the  word  of  negation.  May 


OLD   AND   NEW IMPRESSIONS  47 

he  be  damned  and  his  father  burned.  Let  in  his  ears  ring 
forever  and  ever  the  voice  of  doom,  as  loud  as  the  chariots 
of  Hell Same  to  you— my  heart,  my  soul,  O  Mullahl 

You  are  trying  to  feed  us  the  venom  of  Russian  teach- 
ing. Does  it  occur  to  you  what  our  destiny  might  be  if  we 
follow  you? 

So  be  it! 

We  will  share  all  that  belongs  to  the  mighty.  We  will 
take  the  cow  of  the  wealthy  and  divide  it  into  seven  parts 
of  poverty— will  yet  the  cow  give  milk? 

We  will  share  the  fields  that  have  been  hoed  by  our 
forefathers  and  give  it  to  lie-a-beds  and  idlers— will  the 
earth  be  more  bountiful  and  give  more  bread  to  our  land? 

We  will  shut  our  eyes  to  the  grandeur  of  Allah,  and  be- 
lieve our  souls  will  sprout  grass  in  their  graves— will  we 
achieve  immortality  and  omnipotence,  like  God? 

No,  my  Mullah!  No!  No! 

The  demon,  dull  and  indolent,  has  taken  possession  of 
the  women.  He  is  peeping  out  of  their  eyes,  and  kindles  a 
covetous  gleam.  He  makes  their  breath  quick,  their  tongue 
sharp  and  unruly. 

With  sidewise  glances,  like  bitches,  our  mountain  vixens 
are  seeking  out  the  thin-shouldered  youths,  and  their 
brain  is  stuffy  and  impatient. . . . 

Suppose  we  follow  your  teaching,  O  my  soul,  and  the 
hills  will  not  get  richer,  the  ravines  more  fruitful,  and 
highways  less  impassable.  What  then? 

How  will  you  ever  look  into  the  eyes  of  your  old  men- 
tors, when  led  on  your  Day  of  Judgment  over  the  bridge 
as  thin  and  sharp  as  a  razor? 

Mullah,  we  live  in  humility.  The  poor  are  subdued  by 
their  poverty,  and  the  rich  enjoy  the  vanity  of  their  wealth. 
Beware!  Like  a  granite  rock  stands  our  mighty  faith. 

Mullah,  do  not  come  back.  Do  you  hear  the  far  cry  of 
our  hills?  They  say:  "For  thousands  of  years  have  we  lived 
here  guided  by  the  laws  of  Allah  and  His  prophet,  and 
there  can  be  no  change,  there  can  not!  See,  our  summits 
quake,  our  mighty  glaciers  crumble  away,  ready  to  crush 


48  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

you.  We  do  not  want  to  know  you!  We  shall  defend  our 
unreasonable  human  herd  from  your  teaching. 
From  the  sinful,  sinful  slave 

MULLAH  BAKHROM. 


Month  of  Khut,  year  1344. 

"Now  this  letter,"  bubbles  Shokhor  as  soon  as  he  sees 
me  lift  my  eyes,  "is  to  me  the  most  convincing  embodi- 
ment of  the  spirit  of  counter-revolutionary  Bokhara- 
obtuse,  inert,  slavish,  bigoted,  self-righteous,  fanatical, 
risen  in  holy  wrath  against  the  heretical  teachings  of  the 
new  swine-eating  prophets  of  Marx  and  Lenin.  It  is  beau- 
tiful in  its  passionate  imagery.  The  style  breathes  the 
spirit  of  the  Old  Testament.  Have  you  noticed  the  author's 
primitive  horror  of  a  census?  An  interesting  detail  which 
accounts  for  the  paucity  of  statistical  information  about 
pre-revolutionary  Central  Asia.  And  have  you  noticed  that 
it  was  a  clergyman,  an  Ishan,  who  spread  the  rumor  about 
the  Russians  making  ready  to  tax  the  hills?  This  is  also 
characteristic.  The  Ishans  and  the  Mullahs  were  always 
playing  on  the  native's  indiscriminate  resentment  against 
the  Russians  as  representatives  of  foreign  aggression  and 
exploitation.  The  counter-revolutionary  Moslem  clergy 
was  always  ready  to  identify  the  Bolsheviks  with  the  Rus- 
sians just  as  the  counter-revolutionary  Russian  clergy  was 
always  insisting  that  Bolshevism  was  a  Jewish  invention. 
You  can  understand,  then,  why  to  the  author  Sobyr  Djon's 
siding  with  the  Bolsheviks  was  equivalent  to  his  helping 
the  Russians  'to  conquer  Moslem  lands.'  Also,  why  to  him 
the  Red  House  of  Science,  the  Bolshevik  university,  was 
thrice  damned. 

"What  is  more  interesting,  however,  is  the  fact  that  by 
1924  the  essential  tenets  of  our  Party,  however  distorted 
and  misconstrued,  had  penetrated  as  far  as  the  Pamir. 
Khudoiev's  metaphor  about  the  'cow  of  plenty'  being  di- 
vided into  'seven  parts  of  poverty'  is  simply  his  poetic  way 
of  saying  that  he  is  opposed  to  socialization;  his  suggestion 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  49 

that  the  earth  will  not  yield  more  bread  if  the  land  is 
given  to  the  'lie-abeds  and  idlers'  is  an  argument  against 
collectivization,  and  his  irony  about  souls  sprouting  'grass 
in  their  graves'  is  an  attack  on  our  materialistic  Commu- 
nist philosophy.  Another  feature  is  Khudoiev's  reference 
to  the  women.  That  by  1924  our  propaganda  in  Central 
Asia  was  beginning  to  bear  fruit  in  the  remotest  regions,  is 
evidenced  by  his  assertion  that  'the  demon . . .  has  taken 
possession  of  the  women. . . .  He  makes  their  breath  quick, 
their  tongues  sharp  and  unruly  1'  And  observe,  despite  his 
boast  that  'like  a  granite  rock  stands  our  mighty  faith,'  the 
author  confesses  that  he  is  'terrified  by  the  valleys,'  and  by 
the  'menacing  boars  of  faithlessness'  who  'trample  our 
meager  fields.' 

"The  concluding  paragraph  of  the  letter  is  the  quintes- 
sence of  the  old  Central  Asia's  Moslem  credo:  'For  thou- 
sands of  years  have  we  lived  here  guided  by  the  laws  of 
Allah  and  His  prophet,  and  there  can  be  no  change. . . .' ' 

Satisfied  that  his  explanations  have  been  thoroughly 
successful  in  dissipating  any  favorable  impression  the  let- 
ter may  have  made  on  me,  Shokhor  now  opens  another 
booklet,  an  anthology  of  verse. 

"And  here  is  your  quietly  victorious  answer,  composed 
only  a  few  years  later  by  one  of  the  Tadjik  peasants, 
Munawar-Sho : 

To  the  Prophet 

In  the  year  of  the  great  war  I  strolled  along  the  road 

(It  was  a  scorching  day) 

Among  the  ruined  Hissar  towers 

(The  earth  was  in  a  mist). 

My  legs  could  scarcely  carry  me 

(I  was  hiding  from  the  horsemen) 

Through  the  waters  of  the  foul-smelling  rice  fields 

(Everywhere  lay  corpses). 

From  a  ruined  cell  emerged  my  old  teacher,  the  guide 
of  my  childhood  years,  a  Mullah  and  a  lord  of  learn- 
ing. And  he  cried  to  me:  "Hearken  to  my  prophecies, 
will  pass,  you  will  recall  my  words." 


50  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Years  have  passed.  I  remember  your  words,  O  teacher. 

You  said:  "Crowns  will  not  fall." 

They  fell. 
You  said:  "Thrones  will  not  collapse." 

They  collapsed. 

You  said:  "The  words  of  the  Koran  are  eternal— 
Our  women  will  never  unveil." 

They  unveiled. 

You  said:  "The  mosques  will  never  be  empty, 
Islam  shall  reign  eternal." 

Hardly. 

You  said:  "The  blood  of  the  ruler  is  sacred." 
Look,  behold, 

Here  it  is  on  the  steel  of  my  sword. 
You  said:  "From  our  land  they  will  never  flee,  the 
merchants,    the   Mullahs,    the   Khans   and    the 
judges." 

They  fled. 

Mullah,  teacher, 

Where  are  your  prophecies? 

Mullah,  teacher, 

The  thought  of  you  makes  me  tired. . . ." 

Night  comes  suddenly  in  Bokhara.  As  I  am  finishing 
the  poem,  the  sun  is  sinking  fast  on  the  horizon.  On  our 
way  back  to  the  hotel,  Shokhor  recites  from  memory  a 
poem  about  Lenin  by  an  Uzbek  peasant  bard: 

The  poplar  can  lift  its  top  above  the  mountain  peaks 

Only  if  its  roots  drink  water  enough; 

No  hills  of  sand  can  fill  the  hollow  of  the  sea 

Unless  they  are  as  big  as  the  Pamir  Mountains; 

A  man  can  make  the  whole  world  say  his  name 

Only  if  he  commits  some  awful  crime 

Or  brings  something  good  to  the  whole  wide  world. 

Many  crimes  have  made  the  earth  shudder 
But  few  men  have  done  good  deeds. 
The  greatest  of  good  deeds  was  done  by  Lenin, 
The  urn  of  virtues,  he  who  freed  the  earth. 


OLD   AND    NEW IMPRESSIONS  51 

The  peaks  of  the  Pamir  may  be  leveled 
And  the  oceans  cover  up  the  earth 
And  in  their  place  new  mountains  rise 
Ten  times  as  high  as  the  Pamir- 
Ages  may  walk  with  iron  tread  across  the  earth — 
Men  may  forget  where  their  fathers  lived — 
Men  may  forget  their  fathers'  tongue— 
But  they  will  not  forget  the  name  of  Lenin. 

The  name  of  the  greatest  of  men  will  never  be  forgotten: 

Would  not  seas  of  tears  have  been  shed  without  him? 

Would  not  the  earth  have  bled  dry  without  him? 

Did  he  not  stop  the  great  Russian  war? 

Did  he  not  dry  our  tears? 

Has  he  not  warmed  us  with  the  rays  of  his  soul? 

Has  he  not  crushed  the  beys,  the  lice  of  the  earth? 

We  don't  know  where  he  found  so  much  strength; 

Our  weak  eyes  can't  see  into  the  soul  of  this  great  man. 

But  this  alone  we  know: 

Lenin's  equal  in  mind  and  heart 

Earth  has  not  yet  begotten. 

Now  we  live,  now  we  try, 
However  little,  to  be  like  him— 
The  hero  who  brought  us  freedom. 


PART  TWO 
STRUGGLE  FOR  POWER 


"It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  at  the  present  time  the 
establishment  of  correct  relations  between  our  Russian  So- 
cialist Federated  Soviet  Republic  and  the  peoples  of  Turkestan 
is  of  colossal  universal-historical  significance. 

"For  the  whole  of  Asia  and  for  all  the  colonial  peoples 
of  the  world,  for  thousands  of  millions  of  human  beings  the 
attitude  of  our  Workers'  and  Peasants'  Soviet  Republic  toward 
the  weak  and  heretofore  oppressed  peoples  is  of  practical 
import. 

"I  earnestly  request  you  to  give  this  question  your  utmost 
attention— to  make  every  effort  to  establish— by  example,  by 
deed— comradely  relations  with  the  peoples  of  Turkestan— to 
prove  to  them  by  your  acts  the  sincerity  of  your  desire  to 
eradicate  all  traces  of  Great  Russian  imperialism,  to  struggle 
tenaciously  against  world  imperialism,  with  British  imperial- 
ism at  the  head  of  it." 

—LENIN,  to  the  Communist  Comrades  in 
Turkestan ,  November,  1919. 


"We  want  a  voluntary  union  of  nations— a  union  that 
would  not  tolerate  any  oppression  of  one  nation  by  another, 
a  union  based  on  the  completest  mutual  confidence,  on  a 
clear  consciousness  of  our  brotherly  unity,  on  a  perfectly 
voluntary  mutual  agreement." 

—LENIN,  Letter  to  the  Workers  and  Peas- 
ants of  the  Ukraine,  concerning  the  vic- 
tories over  Denikin,  December,  1919. 


IV 
GATHERING  OF  THE  STORM 

O  land  of  mine,  here  only  dreams  are  blood- 
less.... 

O  God!  Shatter  the  roofs  of  the  palaces 
Over  the  crowns  of  the  vile  khans . . . 
O  God!  Lead  us  out  of  this  horrible  dungeon. 
And  make  the  trembling  princes  kneel  before 
their  slaves — . 

—SADREDDIN  AINI,  Tadjik  poet. 


Bold  Spirits 

THE  first  time  Emir  Alim  Khan  had  felt  vague  tremors 
of  a  revolutionary  movement  in  his  realm  was  in  the 
years  of  the  Russo-Japanese  War  and  the  revolution  of 
1905.  The  great  social  disturbances  in  the  center  of  the 
Empire  had  spread  to  the  backward  minority  peoples  on 
the  peripheries  and  reached  even  Bokhara.  It  was  the  more 
advanced  Tartars  and  Tiurks  from  the  Volga,  the  Crimea 
and  the  Caucasus  who  were  serving  as  connecting  links 
between  the  progressive  Moslem  movements  in  Russia  and 
Central  Asia.  The  very  name  "Djadid"— the  New— of  the 
few  nationalist  societies  in  Central  Asia  was  borrowed 
from  the  Tartars  whose  nationalist  papers,  periodicals,  and 
satirical  journals  were  avidly  read  by  the  small  group  of 
intellectuals  in  Turkestan  and  Bokhara.  However,  in  the 
course  of  time  Djadidism  in  Bokhara,  from  a  purely  cul- 
tural, legal  movement  agitating  for  secular  education  and 
a  few  minor  administrative  reforms,  developed  into  a 
genuine  underground  organization  with  a  considerable 
membership,  several  branches,  and  numerous  sympathizers 
from  among  the  most  progressive  nationalist  elements  in 
the  Khanate.  This  change  came  primarily  in  response  to 

55 


56  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

the  stimulus  of  the  Turkish  and  Persian  revolutions  in 
1908. 

Now  the  Bokhara  Djadids,  in  addition  to  combating  re- 
ligious fanaticism  and  advocating  modern  secular  schools, 
began  to  agitate  for  a  more  liberal  political  and  religious 
censorship  and  to  demand  a  general  lowering  of  taxes  as 
well  as  the  establishment  of  a  well-regulated  system  of  tax 
collections.  Though  it  was  never  fully  formulated,  the 
Djadids  also  hoped  for  a  number  of  legal  guarantees  that 
would  in  some  way  enable  native  capital  to  be  developed 
unhampered.  The  sweetest  dream  of  the  Djadids,  vaguely 
envisaged  by  a  few  of  the  bolder  spirits,  was  a  bourgeois- 
democratic  constitution  similar  to  that  of  the  Young 
Turks. 

The  Emir  of  course  persecuted  the  Djadids.  Even  the 
cultural  aspects  of  their  work  met  with  the  savage  opposi- 
tion of  the  government  and  obstinate  resistance  of  the 
ignorant  masses  who  were  completely  under  the  sway  of 
the  mosque.  Still  a  few  Djadid  schools  did  manage  to  sur- 
vive. The  rallying  ground  for  everything  that  was  alive 
and  forward-looking  in  Bokhara,  these  schools  played  an 
important  role  in  forging  the  leadership  of  the  impending 
revolution. 

The  February  1917  events  in  Russia,  the  overthrow  of 
the  Czar  and  the  rise  of  the  Provisional  Government, 
brought  the  Bokhara  Djadids  into  the  open. 

Hopes  ran  high  in  Bokhara.  There  were  rumors  that 
the  Emir  was  preparing  to  issue  a  manifesto  granting  all 
kinds  of  liberties  to  his  subjects.  Indeed,  in  response  to  a 
congratulatory  telegram  from  the  Djadids,  the  Provisional 
Government  of  Russia  sent  a  dispatch  to  Miller,  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  Russian  Government  in  Bokhara,  and 
to  the  Emir,  urging  immediate  reform.  Assured  of  the 
support  of  the  Russian  Government,  the  local  revolution- 
ary organizations  began  to  raise  their  heads,  growing  ever 
more  militant  and  aggressive  in  their  demands.  However, 
the  Provisional  Government  in  Petrograd,  too  busy  with 
its  own  immediate  problems  of  continuing  the  imperialist 
war  and  of  counteracting  the  second  wave  of  revolutionary 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  57 

activity,  paid  no  further  heed  to  the  problems  of  remote 
Bokhara.  So  preoccupied  was  it  with  the  difficult  task  of 
stopping  the  advance  of  Bolshevism  that  it  never  took  the 
trouble  to  appoint  its  own  representative  to  Bokhara.  It 
simply  retained  in  this  highly  responsible  post  the  Czar's 
representative,  the  arch-reactionary  Miller.  Naturally, 
Miller,  instead  of  assisting  the  revolutionaries,  cooperated 
with  the  Emir. 


Emir's  Futile  Incantations 

Still  the  clamor  for  reforms  was  so  great  that  Miller  felt 
compelled  to  persuade  the  Emir  to  issue  a  liberal  Mani- 
festo: 

As  ever  concerned  with  the  welfare  and  happiness 
of  Our  subjects,  We  are  now  resolved  to  institute 
wide-spread  reforms  in  the  various  branches  of  Our 
administration,  eradicating  all  abuses  and  improprie- 
ties, on  the  basis  of  elections  to  offices  as  demanded 
by  Our  people. 

Reminding  all  Our  subjects  that  the  only  possible 
basis  for  useful  reform  and  all  improvement  is  the 
holy  Shariat,  We  call  upon  every  one  to  aid  Us  in 
carrying  out  Our  firm  decision  to  illumine  Bokhara 
with  the  light  of  progress  and  knowledge  that  will  be 
useful  to  the  people  of  Bokhara. 

Above  all,  We  shall  lay  an  unshakable  foundation 
for  the  just  administration  of  Our  laws  and  the  collec- 
tion of  revenues  and  taxes.  Furthermore,  We  shall 
pay  especial  attention  to  the  development  in  Our 
Khanate  of  industry  and  commerce,  particularly  with 
mighty  Russia.  All  officials  and  government  employes 
shall  be  subject  to  strict  control,  and  shall  receive 
specified  salaries,  and  shall  be  forbidden  to  receive 
any  other  compensation  for  performing  their  official 
duties.  Also,  We  shall  adopt  every  possible  measure 
to  encourage  throughout  Our  domain  the  growth  and 
development  of  useful  knowledge  in  full  accord  with 
the  dictates  of  the  Shariat. 


58  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

In  Our  solicitude  over  the  welfare  of  Our  subjects 
who  reside  in  Our  capital,  We  have  resolved  to  allow 
them  to  elect  a  council  from  among  those  whom  the 
population  deems  most  worthy  and  honorable  and 
who  would  assume  the  responsibilities  of  bettering 
the  sanitary  and  living  conditions  in  the  first  city  in 
Our  Khanate. 

We  also  deem  it  necessary  henceforth  to  establish  a 
state  treasury,  to  adopt  a  state  budget,  and  to  keep 
strict  account  of  all  the  revenues  and  expenses  of  the 
Government. 

Believing  that  all  Our  subjects  should  be  regularly 
informed  as  to  the  exact  nature  of  Our  efforts  and 
decrees  pertaining  to  their  well-being  and  happiness, 
We  hereby  order  the  establishment  in  Our  capital  of 
a  printing  plant  whose  primary  task  should  be  the 
publishing,  as  need  arises,  of  special  news  that  may 
be  of  general  use  and  that  may  help  Our  subjects  to 
obtain  useful  information. 

To  provide  for  the  welfare  of  Our  people,  We  have 
made  every  effort  to  insure  in  Our  Bokhara  Khanate 
the  development  of  self-government  whenever  and 
however  circumstances  may  demand  it. 

To  celebrate  this  solemn  occasion,  We,  working 
hand  in  hand  with  Our  mighty  protectress,  Russia, 
and  with  the  consent  and  approval  of  Our  people, 
hereby  order  the  release  of  all  those  who  are  at 
present  confined  in  Our  prisons. 

Friday,  28  Djemadiussani,  year  1335  of  Khojra, 
in  the  capital  of  Bokhara  the  Noble. 

The  manifesto  satisfied  no  one.  The  left  wing  of  the 
revolutionary  organization  regarded  it  as  ludicrously  in- 
adequate; the  reactionaries,  backed  by  the  still  deluded 
masses,  viewed  it  as  a  national  calamity,  a  blow  at  the  very 
foundation  of  the  established  order.  In  the  demonstrations 
which  followed,  the  reactionaries  made  the  better  show- 
ing. Seeing  this,  the  Emir  decided  to  avenge  himself  on 
his  foes.  His  magnanimous  gesture  of  granting  them  free- 
dom was  forgotten.  Reaction  went  on  a  rampage.  Thirty 
of  the  outstanding  leaders  of  the  revolution  were  arrested 
and  mercilessly  flogged.  One  of  the  leaders,  Mirza- 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  59 

Nasrulla,  received  150  lashes.  The  Russian  workers  in 
Kogan— the  European  settlement  near  Bokhara— organized 
a  protest.  The  Emir,  frightened  by  the  unexpected  alli- 
ance between  the  Russian  and  Bokharan  revolutionists, 
hastened  to  release  his  victims.  Mirza  Nasrulla  died  on  the 
following  day.  On  the  eve  of  his  death  he  composed  his 
political  testament.  He  wrote  that  he  loved  his  people,  and 
that  his  last  deathbed  hope  was  that  his  people  would  free 
itself  from  the  yoke  of  slavery.  He  also  wrote  that  death  at 
the  hand  of  the  executioner  did  not  terrify  him,  that,  on 
the  contrary,  it  made  him  happy,  for  he  was  certain  that 
by  his  death  he  was  hastening  the  hour  of  his  people's 
liberation.  Mirza  was  right.  His  death  sent  a  shock  of  hor- 
ror through  the  heart  of  every  decent  patriot.  Despite  the 
Emir's  threats  and  prohibition,  Mirza's  funeral  attracted 
a  vast  crowd.  From  an  occasion  for  mourning,  the  funeral 
procession  developed  into  an  impressive  revolutionary 
demonstration.  Yet  the  timid  right  wing  elements  of  the 
Djadids  decided  to  retreat  and  henceforth  to  pursue  a 
more  conciliatory  policy.  A  new  and  more  moderate  Cen- 
tral Committee  was  organized  which  undertook  to  carry 
on  negotiations  with  Miller  and  the  Emir  in  an  effort  to 
obtain  from  the  latter,  in  return  for  a  promise  not  to  en- 
gage in  subversive  activities,  an  amnesty  for  the  political 
prisoners  and  a  status  of  legality  for  the  organization. 


United  In  Revolution 

In  his  memoirs,  Faizulla  Khodzaiev,  one  of  the  leading 
personalities  in  the  Djadid  movement,  and  until  recently 
the  president  of  the  Uzbek  Republic,  has  an  interesting 
description  of  these  negotiations.  He  writes: 

"Through  such  moderate  decisions  many  had  hoped  to 
open  the  way  for  some  legal  Party  work.  To  begin  with,  it 
was  suggested  that  Mansurov,  Burchanov  and  I  discuss  the 
matter  with  Miller. 

"We  went.  Miller  received  us.  Mansurov  led  the  discus- 


60  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

sion.  Miller  said  that  although  he  did  not  promise  success 
he  would  try  to  help  and  that  of  course  the  only  way  to 
proceed  was  to  confer  with  the  Emir,  since  there  were  no 
other  means  of  exerting  influence. 

"And  so,  on  the  following  day,  in  accordance  with 
Miller's  suggestion,  we  went  to  the  Emir.  We  were  joined 
by  Miller,  Vvedenski  and  several  members  of  the  Soviet 
of  Workers'  and  Soldiers'  Deputies. . . .  On  Friday  morn- 
ing we  boarded  a  passenger  train  bound  for  Bokhara 
where  we  were  met  by  several  of  the  officials  in  the  Emir's 
carriages.  We  were  all  seated  in  pairs,  each  pair  accom- 
panied by  two  of  the  officials.  I  found  myself  alongside 
Mansurov.  We  were  driving  through  the  market  place 
just  at  the  hour  when  the  worshipers  were  leaving  the 
numerous  mosques,  and  in  the  very  center  of  the  Registan 
we  were  awaited  by  a  crowd  of  about  5,000  people. 

"All  along  the  road  the  crowds  jeered  and  threw  stones 
at  us.  That  boded  little  good  for  our  delegation. 

"We  finally  arrived.  . .  .  Within  a  couple  of  hours  we 
were  all  invited  into  the  Emir's  throne  room.  Escorted  by 
the  Russian  authorities  we  proceeded  thereto  in  pairs,  not 
even  inquiring  as  to  why  we  were  being  taken  there. 

"In  the  throne  room  we  met  the  entire  administration 
of  Bokhara:  dignitaries  of  all  ranks  and  chief  mullahs  ar- 
rayed in  all  their  splendor.  When  we  entered,  we  were 
greeted  with  shouts  and  cries  and  abusive  language.  The 
introductory  words  were  delivered  by  Mansurov. 

"He  began  something  to  this  effect:  'We,  the  citizens  of 
Bokhara,  love  and  respect  our  fatherland  and  the  existing 
order  and  although  we  criticized  His  Highness'  manifesto 
as  not  having  altogether  fallen  in  with  our  aims,  we  now 
extend  our  hand  to  you,  great  people  of  the  State.  May 
the  will  of  the  Emir  be  done.' 

"No  sooner  did  Mansurov  begin  to  speak,  than  they 
all  jumped  up,  waved  their  sticks,  called  us  traitors, 
heretics,  infidels.  Some  of  us  were  beaten  up. 

"The  Emir  finally  rose  and  addressed  himself  to  Mansu- 
rov and  the  officials  thus:  'You,  and  you  my  subjects,  there 
is  some  misunderstanding  amongst  you.  All  this  will  pass, 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  6l 

calm  yourselves.  As  it  was,  so  it  shall  be/  With  these  words 
he  quickly  left  the  room.  We  heard  the  raging  and  raving 
of  a  huge  mob  near  the  very  wall  of  the  castle,  demanding 
the  surrender  of  our  delegation.  Only  then  did  we  realize 
the  real  purpose  of  the  two  friends,  the  Emir  and  Miller. 
However,  we  were  not  handed  over  to  the  mob,  instead  we 
were  kept  in  the  corridor  and  then  amidst  the  shouts  of 
the  retreating  crowd,  were  led  back  to  our  former  places. 

"There  we  spent  the  whole  day  listening  to  the  shouts 
of  the  excited  mob  still  clamoring  for  our  surrender. 

"And  now  the  treacherous  role  of  the  representatives  of 
the  Russian  Provisional  Government  fully  revealed  itself. 
Miller  and  Vvedenski  made  every  effort  to  create  the 
impression  that  they  were  the  messengers  rather  than  the 
collaborators  of  the  Emir.  They  were  busy  running  back 
and  forth,  now  coming  to  us,  now  going  to  the  Emir,  now 
appearing  before  the  people,  supposedly  to  calm  them, 
but  in  reality  as  desirous  of  our  end  as  the  mob  outside 
was. 

"But  in  contrast  to  them,  there  was  another  element 
at  work,  an  element  which  had  already  cast  off  the  yoke 
of  czarism,  and  which  later  proved  to  be  the  emancipator 
of  Bokhara— the  national-revolutionary  masses  of  the  East 
working  hand  in  hand  with  the  Russian  workers  and 
peasants. 

"Were  it  not  for  the  interference  of  this  group,  the 
bourgeois  babblers  and  traitors— Miller  and  his  colleagues 
who  under  the  mask  of  liberalism  concealed  their  reaction- 
ary nature— would,  no  doubt,  have  handed  us  over  to  the 
brutality  of  the  mob. 

"It  was  they,  the  revolutionary  Russian  Army  and  the 
workers  of  New  Bokhara,  the  Russian  settlement,  who 
frustrated  the  hellish  plans  of  the  Emir  and  his  Russian 
henchmen.  The  first  to  come  to  our  aid  were  the  workers 
of  New  Bokhara  with  whom  our  young  Bokharan  party 
maintained  the  closest  ties,  then  the  revolutionary  Army 
which  was  stationed  in  New  Bokhara  and  on  the  railroad 
stations  of  Old  Bokhara. 

"But  of  all  this  our  delegation  knew  nothing.  During 


62  DAWN   OVER   SAMARKAND 

our  entire  stay  at  the  palace  we  were  awaiting  death  either 
at  the  hands  of  the  hangman  or  the  infuriated  mob. 

"Then  the  unexpected  happened— we  were  visited  by 
Nasrulla  Kushbegi  and  Urgandji.  They  both  with  one 
voice  announced  that  the  Emir  regretted  the  entire  affair, 
that  he  was  indignant  at  the  fanaticism  of  the  mob,  whose 
number  by  that  time  had  swelled  to  10,000,  which  for  the 
last  twelve  hours  was  demanding  the  execution  of  the 
delegation  or  its  surrender.  However,  neither  thing  hap- 
pened since  the  Emir  was  anxious  that  everything  end 
amicably.  Then  Urgandji  added  that  by  morning  we 
would  probably  be  released. 

"Evidently  the  visit  of  the  workers  and  the  revolution- 
ary soldiers  had  its  effect  on  His  Highness  the  Emir  and 
his  officials. 

"Urgandji  further  stated  that  the  members  of  the  Soviet 
of  New  Bokhara  were  very  tired  and  were  therefore 
obliged  to  leave.  We  protested  very  energetically  against 
the  departure  of  the  only  trustworthy  protectors  we  had 
and  of  course  they  agreed  to  remain  with  us. 

"When  Miller  noticed  how  readily  the  Soviets  offered 
to  help  us,  he  became  alarmed  and  immediately  began  to 
make  arrangements  for  our  release. 

"By  twelve  o'clock  we  were  freed  and  on  our  way  back 
to  New  Bokhara  where  we  were  met  by  cheering  crowds 
of  railroad  and  cotton-ginning  factory  workers." 

This  trip  to  the  Emir  brought  about  the  end  of  both 
the  Central  Committee  and  the  chairmanship  of  Mansu- 
rov.  About  two  weeks  later,  a  new  Central  Committee  was 
formed  at  a  general  membership  meeting  of  the  Organiza- 
tion. This  Committee  made  a  final  break  with  many  of  the 
evils  of  Djadidism,  such  as  its  confinement  to  the  province 
of  culture  and  its  political  wavering.  The  formation  of  a 
new  Young-Bokhara  party,  to  replace  the  Djadid,  was 
begun  and  its  program  drawn  up.  At  the  same  time  there 
was  a  strengthening  of  the  agitational  and  organizational 
activities  in  the  villages  and  the  provinces.  In  accordance 
with  one  of  the  first  and  most  important  decisions  of  the 
new  Central  Committee,  work  was  begun  among  the 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  6g 

Emir's  soldiers.  Efforts  were  also  made  to  revolutionize 
and  unite  those  groups  of  craft  workers  and  drivers  in 
the  cities  who  were  in  sympathy  with  the  Young- 
Bokhara  party,  and  who  were  potentially  excellent  mate- 
rial for  carrying  the  struggle  to  the  next  stage,  the 
overthrow  of  the  Emir  and  the  establishment,  three  years 
later,  of  the  Soviet  power  in  Ancient  Bokhara. 


FIRST  THUNDERBOLT 

TWO  CAMPAIGNS:  A  Recitation 

ist  GROUP:  We  are  going  into  battle.  We  are  going  into  bat- 
tle against  the  Chadra  and  the  Paranja. 

We  are  struggling  for  your  freedom,  O  East,  on 
our  most  distant  borders. 

We  are  fighting  for  the  freedom  of  our  sisters 
and  the  lives  of  our  daughters. 

And  they— what  do  they  want?  Their  truth  let 

us  see. 

2nd  GROUP:  They  go  to  the  edge  of  the  world;  proudly  they 
wave  the  British  flag. 

They  slay  our  toiling  brothers  whose  blood  in 
rivers  flows. 

They  pet  our  lords  and  crush   their  obedient 
slaves. 

They  stamp  as  foes  the  eyes  that  stare  straight 
in  their  faces. 

ist  GROUP:  We  go  to  fight  to  set  you  free,  O  China  and  O 

India! 
2nd  GROUP:  But  for  them  China  and  India  are  like  a  fat  ram 

for  pilaf. 
ist  GROUP:  There  is  no  place  here  any  more  for  emirs  or 

beys  or  mullahs. 
We  need  no  god  and  no  servants  of  his  from 

this  or  other  lands. 
2nd  GROUP:  There   they   have   thrown  the   burdens   of   this 

earth  on  the  broken  backs  of  the  poor. 
The  cry  of  the  babes,  of  the  Hindu  peasants  is 

terrible  to  hear. 
ist  GROUP:  We  want  to  open  up  for  the  peoples  of  the 

earth  a  new  and  shining  world. 
2nd  GROUP:  They  want   to  keep  the  yoke  on  us,  the  rich 

man,  the  bey,  the  emir! 
They  are  preparing  for  us  a  glorious  holiday  of 

bullets  and  bombs  and  grenades. 
IN  UNISON:  There  are  open  before  you  two  roads.  In  front 

there  rises  the  sun. 
Look  where  is  good  and  look  where  is  evil  and 

fight! 
That's  our  advice. 

— PAIRAU  SULYAIMONI 
64 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  65 

Emir  Ponders 

HPHE  Bolshevik  Revolution  came  down  like  a  bolt  from 
A  heaven  upon  the  Emir.  Self-determination  of  Peoplesl 
Down  with  Imperialism!  Down  with  the  Landlords  and 
the  Bourgeoisie!  We  Demand  Peace,  Land  and  Freedom! 
Long  Live  the  Workers'  and  Peasants'  Soviets!  Long  Live 
the  International  Revolution!  These,  he  had  frequently 
heard  from  Miller  during  the  preceding  months,  were 
some  of  the  slogans  emblazoned  on  the  Bolsheviks'  ban- 
ners. He  had  also  heard  of  that  man  Lenin— "a  lunatic  and 
a  German  spy"— but  he  took  neither  Lenin  nor  his  slogans 
too  seriously,  for  he  relied  on  Miller's  optimistic  inter- 
pretation of  events  in  Russia. 

Now  the  sudden  news:  Kerensky  has  fled.  The  Bolshe- 
viks have  seized  power!  And  a  few  days  later,  the  New 
Government's  fantastic  Declaration  of  People's  Rights,  an- 
nouncing the  "final  and  irrevocable"  liberation  of  all  the 
people  who  had  suffered  under  the  "despotism"  of  the 
Czars;  guaranteeing  "the  equality  and  sovereignty  of  all 
the  peoples  in  Russia;  the  right  of  all  the  peoples  in  Rus- 
sia to  self-determination,  including  the  right  to  separation 
and  the  formation  of  independent  states;  the  abolition  of 
all  national  and  national-religious  privileges  and  restric- 
tions; the  free  development  of  national  minorities  and 
ethnographic  groups  inhabiting  Russian  territory. . . ." 

National  freedom  in  Russia!  To  the  Emir  the  whole 
thing  seemed  absurd,  incredible.  Here  was  a  country  ex- 
tending over  two  continents,  embracing  five  hundred  and 
seventy-seven  different  peoples  and  tribes  speaking  one 
hundred  and  fifty  different  languages,  a  country  whose 
entire  history  was  one  endless  series  of  conquests  and  sub- 
jugations of  neighboring  peoples,  a  country  which  in  the 
course  of  four  hundred  years  had  increased  its  territory 
at  the  rate  of  fifty  square  miles  a  day— from  800,000  square 
miles  in  1505  to  8,500,000  square  miles  in  1900!— a  country 
which  for  centuries  had  treated  subject  peoples  with  the 
utmost  contempt,  keeping  them  economically  backward, 


66  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

and,  with  the  exception  of  the  Bokhara  Khanate,  ruth- 
lessly suppressing  their  national  languages,  cultures,  and 
institutions.  And  in  this  country  the  equality  of  peoples 
has  been  proclaimed  the  fundamental  law  in  the  land. . . . 
"A  piece  of  strategy,"  reasoned  the  Emir,  "a  spectacular 
gesture  intended  to  delude  the  non-Slavic  peoples,  through 
the  flattery  of  their  national  aspirations,  into  supporting 
the  government  of  a  band  of  Russian  anarchists  and 
brigands."  And  he  decided  to  watch  his  step  most  vigi- 
lantly. 

A  couple  of  days  later  came  the  "Proclamation  to  the 
Mohammedans  of  Russia  and  the  Orient,"  signed  by  Lenin 
and  a  certain  man  Stalin.  This  was  even  more  disconcert- 
ing. The  Bolsheviks  now  addressed  themselves  specifically 
to  the  Moslem  East,  to  the  "Mohammedans  of  Russia,  Tar- 
tars of  the  Volga  and  Crimea,  Kirghiz  and  Sarts  of  Siberia 
and  Turkestan,  Tiurks  and  Tartars  of  Transcaucasia,  Che- 
chenzi  and  other  mountaineers  from  the  Caucasus,"  to  all 
those  "whose  mosques  and  prayer  houses  were  being  de- 
stroyed, whose  peaceful  customs  were  trampled  under  foot 
by  the  czars  and  oppressors  of  Russia."  Yes,  the  godless 
riff-raff  at  Petrograd  were  trying  to  make  people  believe 
that  "henceforth"  Moslem  "beliefs  and  customs . . . 
national  institutions  and  cultures"  were  "free  and  in- 
violable." "Build  your  national  lives  free  and  unham- 
pered," wrote  the  Bolsheviks.  "You  have  the  right  to  them. 
Know  that  your  rights,  as  well  as  the  rights  of  all  the 
peoples  of  Russia,  are  under  the  powerful  protection  of 
the  Revolution  and  its  organs— the  Soviets  of  Workers', 
Soldiers',  and  Peasants'  Deputies. . . ." 

The  Emir  was  perturbed,  puzzled.  Sitting  in  his  cabinet 
under  the  glaring  empty  space  where  the  Czar's  and 
Czarina's  portraits  used  to  hang,  he  read  and  re-read  and 
pondered  the  two  Bolshevik  documents.  Even  before  he 
had  fully  realized  it,  his  class  instinct  told  him  that  they 
contained  some  profound  and  sinister  significance.  First, 
as  to  the  right  to  separate  and  form  an  independent  state. 
As  things  looked  now  that  seemed  exceedingly  alluring. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  67 

Of  course,  time  was  when  he  wouldn't  have  thought  of 
breaking  away  from  Russia,  even  if  it  had  been  feasible. 
But  that  was  months  ago,  under  the  Empire,  when  he, 
Emir  Said-Mir-Alim-Khan,  still  held  the  high  rank  of 
general  in  the  Russian  army  and  of  aide-de-camp  to  his 
friend  and  protector  Czar  Nicholas  II.  Then  under  the 
beneficence  of  Russia's  power  and  prestige,  he  lorded  it 
over  his  domain  without  fear  of  challenge.  Occasionally, 
some  annoying  interference  from  the  Sovereign's  repre- 
sentative would  occur,  but  that  was  made  up  a  hundred- 
fold by  the  great  economic  and  military  advantages  which 
he  and  his  closest  friends  derived  from  the  association. 
After  all,  it  was  under  the  czars  that  he  had  become  one 
of  the  wealthiest  men  in  Asia.  "Such  riches  as  take  one 
back  to  the  days  of  the  Arabian  Nights,"  once  remarked 
an  admiring  Englishman,  "with  a  collection  of  jewels  and 
precious  stones  worthy  of  the  oldest  Mohammedan  state." 
In  addition  to  the  100,000,000  rubles  invested  in  Russian 
industrial  and  financial  enterprises,  he  had  thirty-five 
million  pounds  sterling  in  gold  and  silver  coins  and  in- 
gots. More  precious  than  gold  was  his  power:  two  and 
a  half  million  good,  pious,  obedient  subjects!  True,  there 
were  a  few  malcontents.  But  Great  Russia's  friendly  inter- 
est certainly  helped  keep  them  in  the  proper  place.  And 
there  was  never  any  trouble  with  respect  to  religious  free- 
dom and  the  preservation  of  Moslem  tradition.  In  Bo- 
khara, at  least,  there  was  no  Russian  meddling  on  that 
score.  The  Mohammedan  faith  and  tradition,  Allah  be 
praised,  existed  here  after  the  Russian  conquest  as  they 
had  existed  here  centuries  before,  without  perceptible 
changes. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  social  structure  of  the  Kha- 
nate seemed  to  the  Emir  as  unshakable  as  those  great 
pyramids  that  keep  eternal  watch  over  the  African  deserts. 
He  himself  was  the  supreme  ruler,  the  very  apex  of  the 
pyramid— the  focus  of  all  religious,  executive,  judicial 
and  legislative  authority  in  the  realm— Chief  Mullah,  Chief 
Executive,  Chief  Casi,  Chief  Commander,  Chief  Mer- 


68  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

chant,  Chief  Everything.  And  immediately  below  him, 
supporting  him  and  cooperating  with  him,  were  his  high- 
est ecclesiastical  and  state  dignitaries  and  the  financial 
aristocracy.  A  compact,  scarcely  differentiated  social  layer, 
rich  and  powerful,  and  inextricably  bound  up  with  his 
rule;  impervious  to  new  ideas,  set  against  the  slightest 
innovation,  the  iron  stronghold  of  orthodoxy  in  his 
realm. 

Below  were  other  layers,  broader  and  thicker,  but  less 
homogeneous,  and  less  integrated — the  so-called  rural  and 
urban  middle  classes.  The  most  stable  and  loyal  amongst 
them  had  always  been  the  beys,  the  richest  peasants.  With 
the  exception  of  his  nearest  collaborators,  the  beys  were 
his  most  favored  subjects.  Their  estates  were  for  the  most 
part  not  very  large,  but  they  comprised  the  best  lands,  not 
infrequently  granted  to  them  by  himself.  The  Emir  was 
proud  of  his  strategy — the  bestowal  of  such  land  upon  the 
chiefs  of  tribes  and  clans  secured  for  him  the  loyal  co- 
operation and  support  of  the  most  authoritative  elements 
in  the  village.  In  essence,  each  bey  was  a  petty  feudal  lord, 
his,  Alim  Khan's,  vassal.  The  bey  was  not  really  a  peasant, 
for  he  rarely  worked  on  the  land.  He  was  most  usually 
the  local  administrative  officer  of  the  Emirate,  and  his 
lands  were  worked  by  tenant-farmers  who  received  one- 
fourth  of  the  harvest.  Altogether  the  beys  constituted  quite 
a  distinct  economic  and  social  category.  Their  relative 
wealth  and  political  power  made  their  position  in  the 
village  invulnerable  and  their  influence  irresistible.  Liv- 
ing on  their  own  lands  which  produced  everything  they 
needed,  the  beys  like  the  aristocracy,  were  among  the  least 
susceptible  to  outside  influences  and  the  allurements  of 
modernity.  They  were  the  backbone  of  conservatism  in 
the  Khanate. 

In  the  city,  the  most  numerous  section  of  the  middle 
class  was  the  lower  merchants.  They  were  neither  inde- 
pendent nor  affluent— mostly  middlemen  and  agents  for 
Russian  commercial  and  financial  institutions.  Always  in 
debt  to  the  Russian  banks  or  the  Bokharan  upper  class, 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  69 

always  in  the  process  of  getting  into  or  getting  out  of 
bankruptcy,  this  class  was  ignorant  and  subservient,  but 
God-fearing,  politically  trustworthy  and  scarcely  distin- 
guishable from  the  rest  of  his  subjects.  Socially  and  psycho- 
logically the  merchants  were  most  closely  related  to  the 
lower  clergy  and  officialdom. 

Associated  with  this  perfectly  trustworthy  class  was, 
however,  the  native  professional  intelligentsia,  not  a  very 
numerous  group  but  sufficiently  "advanced"  to  chafe 
under  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  the  "glaring  anachro- 
nisms" of  Bokharan  life.  A  perverse  element,  most  of  them 
liberals  and  revolutionists— Djadids.  Yet  on  the  whole, 
with  the  aid  of  the  Czar,  he  had  never  found  it  very  diffi- 
cult to  handle  them.  A  little  severity  went  a  long  way  with 
them. 

And  right  below  was  the  thin  layer  of  city  workers— 
about  ten  thousand  of  them— truckmen,  water-carriers, 
shoemakers,  tailors,  blacksmiths,  leather  workers,  silver- 
smiths, weavers,  and  craftsmen  of  various  other  kinds. 
There  were  no  industrial  workers,  no  industrial  prole- 
tariat in  his  Khanate,  for  there  were  no  industries.  How- 
ever, the  several  thousand  workers  in  Bokhara  were  a 
pretty  bad  lot— a  little  too  "civilized,"  a  little  too  ready 
to  pick  arguments  and  kick  up  trouble,  and  a  little  too 
ready  to  listen  to  the  Djadids  and  to  hobnob  with  the 
Russian  railroad  workers  and  other  Russian  riff-raff  in  the 
New  City,  in  Kogan.  But  there  were  so  few  of  them  and 
they  were  so  poor  and  had  so  little  influence  on  the 
general  population  that  neither  the  Emir  nor  any  of  his 
aides  ever  took  them  seriously. 

Then  there  was  the  large  mass  of  the  village  popula- 
tion—the broad  base  of  the  social  pyramid.  A  stolid,  inert 
lot;  poor  and  humble  and  touching  in  their  profound 
devotion  to  tradition,  the  mosque,  and  their  divine  ruler. 
It  was  on  their  loyalty  and  obedience  that  the  whole  social 
structure  rested.  There  had  been  sporadic  peasant  out- 
breaks, but  those,  Allah  be  praised,  had  been  easily  put 
down, 


70  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Such  was  life  in  the  not  very  distant  past  under  the 
Empire— a  good,  reverent,  God-fearing  folk  welded  to- 
gether by  the  power  of  their  ruler  and  the  help  of 
the  Czar  into  one  happy,  harmonious  family.  Surely  the 
thought  of  independence  would  have  never  entered  the 
Emir's  mind  in  the  days  of  the  Czar.  Things,  however,  had 
changed.  Ever  since  February  Bokhara  had  been  seething 
with  agitation.  The  Young  Bokharans  had  been  making 
more  and  more  a  nuisance  of  themselves.  The  humiliating 
episode  of  the  manifesto  passed  through  the  Emir's  mind, 
and  he  felt  a  shudder  running  down  his  spine.  That  could 
not  be  dismissed  too  lightly.  What  was  the  use  of  the  Bol- 
sheviks' guarantees  that  beliefs  and  customs  would  be 
free  and  inviolable,  when  here  one's  own  subjects,  Mos- 
lems, Bokharans,  were  trying  to  tear  everything  down? 
And  the  most  disturbing,  the  most  ominous  thing  was  the 
way  the  revolutionary  Russian  workers  and  soldiers  and 
the  members  of  the  Soviet  from  the  New  City  rose  in 
defense  of  the  Young  Bokharans.  So  that's  what  the  Bolshe- 
viks meant  by  the  rights  of  the  peoples  of  Russia  being 
under  the  protection  of  the  Soviets  of  Workers',  Soldiers', 
and  Peasants'  Deputies! 

Now  the  Emir  saw  through  the  trick  of  the  Bolsheviks. 
Just  as  Miller,  the  spokesman  of  Imperial  Russia,  had  dealt 
with  him  as  the  representative  of  the  Bokharan  peoples, 
so  now  would  the  Bolsheviks,  the  spokesmen  of  the  revo- 
lutionary Russian  masses,  deal  with  the  Young  Bokharans 
as  the  representatives  of  the  Bokharan  peoples.  Feeling  the 
whole  world  toppling  on  his  head,  realizing  that  his  money, 
his  lands,  his  investments,  his  throne,  his  very  life  were 
in  peril,  the  Emir,  in  a  frenzy  of  fear,  issued  a  despairing 
call  to  all  his  ministers,  mullahs,  ishans,  rich  merchants, 
casii  and  other  dignitaries  of  State  and  mosque  to  gather 
in  secret  council.  His  purpose  was  to  check  up  the  home 
forces  that  could  be  mustered  against  the  Bolshevik  men- 
ace as  well  as  to  discuss  the  possibilities  of  obtaining  out- 
side, especially  British,  aid. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  71 

Parting  of  Ways 

The  Djadids  and  the  Young  Bokharans,  too,  were  deeply 
stirred  by  the  tremendous  overturn  in  Russia.  The  Bolshe- 
vik Declaration  of  Peoples'  Rights  and  the  Proclamation 
to  the  Mohammedans  of  Russia  and  the  Orient  gave  ex- 
pression, it  seemed,  to  their  fondest  hopes.  Those  were 
days  of  profound  exultation  and  passionate  discussion. 
Before  long,  however,  the  fundamental  differences  in- 
herent in  the  various  attitudes  ranging  from  the  constitu- 
tional democratic  of  the  bourgeois  nationalists  to  the  pro- 
letarian revolutionary  of  the  Bolshevik  internationalists 
began  to  come  to  the  surface.  Now  that  national  self- 
determination  was  at  last  proclaimed,  the  bourgeois  na- 
tionalist Djadids  thought  it  best  for  Bokhara  to  overthrow 
the  Emir,  break  away  from  Bolshevik  Russia,  form  a  con- 
stitutional democratic  republic,  and  start  on  an  ambitious 
career  of  capitalist  development,  with  native  capital  guar- 
anteed every  legal  advantage.  Like  the  Emir,  most  of  them 
on  sober  reflection  came  to  doubt  the  ultimate  sincerity 
of  Bolshevik  protestations  concerning  the  right  of  each 
nation  to  form  a  separate  independent  state.  An  empty 
gesture,  another  Russian  trick!  Let  them  entrench  them- 
selves, and  before  long  they  will  crush  the  slightest 
manifestation  of  "separatism"  or  "particularism"  or  "local 
independence."  The  Russian  Bolsheviks  were  now  advo- 
cating national  rights,  because  they  were  trying,  for  their 
own  safety,  to  demolish  the  old  state  structure.  But  as 
soon  as  the  Old  Empire  was  completely  gone,  they  would 
hasten  to  build  in  its  place  "their  own— Red,  but  Russian 
—empire."  Once  the  old  alignments  were  annihilated,  the 
nationalism  and  particularism  of  the  former  colonial  and 
semi-colonial  peoples  would  no  longer  be  useful  to  the 
new  rulers!  So  reasoned  the  Bokharan  bourgeoisie. 

Other  Djadids,  the  more  revolutionary  ones,  vehe- 
mently defended  the  Bolsheviks,  and  expressed  faith  in 
their  sincerity.  They  referred  to  history.  They  unearthed 
old  documents.  They  insisted  that  self-determination  of 


72  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

peoples  was  not  a  newly  invented  Bolshevik  trick,  but  that 
it  lay  at  the  basis  of  Bolshevik  ideology  from  the  very  in- 
ception of  Bolshevism  in  1903.  They  went  farther  back- 
to  the  early  days  of  the  Second  International.  The  London 
Congress  of  the  Second  International,  in  1896,  had  stated 
it  clearly  and  unequivocally:  "The  Congress  declares  that 
it  stands  for  the  right  of  all  peoples  to  self-determination." 
The  same  position  had  been  taken  by  the  Congress  at 
Paris  in  1900,  at  Amsterdam  in  1904,  at  Stuttgart  in  1907. 

And  Lenin  had  worked  over  this  question  for  years. 
In  a  hundred  different  places,  in  articles,  editorials,  resolu- 
tions, Lenin  always  maintained  that  national  self-deter- 
mination meant  precisely  what  it  said— the  freedom  of 
every  nationality  to  determine  its  political,  economic,  and 
cultural  life.  He  fought  tenaciously  those  among  the  Social 
Democrats  who  felt  that  "national  self-determination" 
should  be  confined  to  the  purely  cultural  or  purely  eco- 
nomic phases  of  a  people's  life  and  that  Lenin's  concep- 
tion, if  pressed  to  its  logical  conclusion,  would  tend  to 
ignore  the  "international  sentiments"  of  the  working  class 
and  introduce  narrowing  "chauvinistic  tendencies"  into 
the  international  revolutionary  movement.  Lenin  always 
insisted:  "By  self-determination  we  mean  the  right  of  a 
people  to  separate  itself  from  alien  national-collectives, 
the  right  to  form  an  independent  national  state." 

And  in  1913  Stalin,  in  his  Marxism  and  the  National 
Question,  wrote:  "The  Social  Democracy  of  all  countries 
is  proclaiming  the  right  of  the  peoples  to  self-determina- 
tion. . . .  No  one  has  the  right  forcibly  to  intervene  in  the 
life  of  the  nation,  to  destroy  its  schools  and  other  institu- 
tions, to  break  down  its  customs  and  usages,  to  suppress 
its  language,  to  cut  down  its  rights." 

And  in  April,  1917— seven  months  before  the  Bolshevik 
victory— the  All-Russian  Bolshevik  Conference  at  Petro- 
grad  (now  Leningrad),  in  criticizing  the  Provisional  Gov- 
ernment, reiterated  the  fundamental  Bolshevik  principle 
that  "all  nations  within  Russia  must  be  accorded  the  right 
freely  to  secede  and  to  form  independent  states . . .  the  de- 
nial of  this  right,  and  the  failure  to  adopt  measures  guar- 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  73 

anteeing  its  practical  realization,  amount  to  the  support 
of  a  policy  of  conquests  and  annexations." 

But  the  bourgeois  nationalists  who  distrusted  the  Bol- 
sheviks were  not  easily  downed.  If  the  Bolsheviks,  they 
maintained,  were  honest,  then  they  were  hopelessly  naive. 
Surely,  when  confronted  with  the  practical  tests  of  govern- 
ment, all  their  ardor  and  theories  would  be  dampened. 
Centralization  of  authority  and  unification  would  become 
the  watchwords.  Before  long  they  would  discover  Bolshe- 
vik equivalents  of  the  "white  man's  burden,"  "civilizing 
influence,"  "trusteeship,"  etc.  The  Stuttgart  Congress,  as 
well  as  the  subsequent  history  of  the  Socialist  parties  in 
Europe,  provided  an  excellent  example  of  this.  It  was  at 
Stuttgart  that  Socialists  like  MacDonald  and  Von  Kole— 
one  a  citizen  of  Imperialist  Britain,  the  other  of  Imperial- 
ist Holland— had  refused  "in  principle  to  condemn  any 
colonial  policy  which  under  a  socialist  regime  may  have 
a  civilizing  role  to  perform."  As  soon  as  the  Socialists  had 
found  themselves  with  ministerial  portfolios  under  their 
arms,  the  arch-revolutionary  doctrines  of  1896,  1900,  1904 
began  to  evaporate.  The  same  would  happen  with  the 
Russian  Bolsheviks.  And  then  woe  to  those  of  the  national 
minorities  who  had  reposed  their  faith  in  them!  They 
would  be  crushed — all  in  the  name  of  helping  "our  back- 
ward brothers  in  the  East"! 

Furthermore,  a  thorough  analysis  of  Bolshevik  writing 
on  this  subject— maintained  the  bourgeois  nationalists — 
revealed  a  curious  fundamental  contradiction:  Always 
separation  and  unification  in  the  same  breath!  The  germ 
of  this  contradiction  was  contained  in  the  Declaration  of 
the  London  Congress  in  1896.  Immediately  after  announc- 
ing that  all  nations  had  the  right  to  determine  their  own 
destinies,  the  Congress  called  upon  the  workers  of  all 
countries  to  unite  in  struggle  for  the  overthrow  of  inter- 
national capitalism  and  for  the  realization  of  the  aims 
of  International  Socialism.  Well,  argued  the  bourgeois 
Djadids,  suppose  the  several  thousand  workers  in  Bo- 
khara suddenly  turned  Communist,  while  the  rest  of  the 
two  and  a  half  million  inhabitants  preferred  a  bourgeois 


74  DAWN   OVER   SAMARKAND 

democracy— by  joining  hands  with  the  Bolsheviks  in 
Russia,  by  inviting  Russia's  help,  several  thousand  Bo- 
kharan  workers  could,  through  sheer  external  force,  es- 
tablish the  dictatorship  of  the  proletariat  in  Bokhara  too, 
and  thus  make  Bokhara  once  again  an  appendage  of  Rus- 
sia. What  the  bourgeois-nationalists,  therefore,  insisted  on 
knowing  was  what  it  was  that  the  Bolsheviks  really  stood 
for,  separation  or  unification,  national  independence  or 
international  dependence? 

The  few  young  Bokharans  who  were  most  familiar  with 
Marxist  dialectics  denied  that  there  were  any  contradic- 
tions in  the  Bolshevik  national  program.  It  was  all  a 
matter  of  defining  who  was  the  exponent  of  the  nation's 
will.  And  here  they  felt  the  Marxists  had  always  been  lucid 
and  consistent.  In  the  Communist  Manifesto,  in  1848, 
Marx  and  Engels  wrote: 

Formally,  though  not  intrinsically,  the  struggle  of 
the  proletariat  against  the  bourgeoisie  is  in  the  first 
place  a  national  one.  The  proletariat  of  each  country 
must,  naturally,  begin  by  settling  accounts  with  its 
own  bourgeoisie.  The  proletariat  must  begin  with 
the  conquest  of  political  power,  must  raise  itself  to 
the  position  of  the  national  class,  must  constitute  it- 
self the  nation;  in  this  sense  it  is  itself  national, 
though  not  at  all  in  the  sense  of  the  bourgeoisie. 

Also  Stalin,  in  1913,  made  it  quite  clear  that  the  whole 
purpose  of  the  Bolsheviks'  struggle  for  national  self- 
determination  in  Russia  was  ultimately  "to  undermine  the 
national  struggle,  to  rob  it  of  its  sting,  to  reduce  it  to 
a  minimum"  and  thus  enable  the  laboring  classes  of  the 
different  peoples  to  unite  against  the  common  enemy— 
the  bourgeoisie.  "In  this  way  the  policy  of  the  class- 
conscious  proletariat  is  sharply  distinguished  from  that 
of  the  bourgeoisie,  which  aims  at  intensifying  the  national- 
ist struggle  and  continuing  and  redoubling  the  nationalist 
agitation." 

The  Young  Bokharans  knew  that  unification,  in  Marx- 
ist theory,  was  always  the  fundamental  motive  of  the 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  75 

apparently  separatist  slogan  of  national  self-determination. 
It  always  meant  "national"  not  "in  the  sense  of  the  bour- 
geoisie," but  in  the  Marxist  sense  of  the  proletariat 
seizing  political  power,  and  "constituting  itself  the  na- 
tion" by  winning  over  the  vast  majority  of  the  working 
population.  The  same  thought  was  expressed  even  more 
clearly  by  the  April  Conference  of  the  All-Russian  Bol- 
shevik Party  in  Petrograd:  "The  question  of  the  right  of 
nations  freely  to  secede  is  unjustifiably  confused  with  the 
question  of  the  expediency  of  the  secession  of  one  or 
another  nation  at  one  or  another  moment.  This  latter 
question  must  in  each  separate  instance  be  determined 
in  entire  independence  by  a  party  of  the  proletariat,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  interests  of  general  development 
and  of  the  proletarian  class  struggle  for  socialism."  * 

*  The  Communist  understanding  of  self-determination  is  excellently 
revealed  in  Resolutions  of  the  Communist  International  on  the  Negro 
Question  in  the  United  States:  ". . .  Complete  right  to  self-determination 
includes  also  the  right  to  governmental  separation,  but  does  not  neces- 
sarily imply  that  the  Negro  population  should  make  use  of  this  right  in 
all  circumstances,  that  is,  that  it  must  actually  separate  or  attempt  to 
separate  the  Black  Belt  from  the  existing  governmental  federation  with 
the  United  States.  If  it  desires  to  separate,  it  must  be  free  to  do  so;  but 
if  it  prefers  to  remain  federated  with  the  United  States  it  must  also  be 
free  to  do  that.  This  is  the  correct  meaning  of  the  idea  of  self-determina- 
tion, and  it  must  be  recognized  quite  independently  of  whether  the  United 
States  is  still  a  capitalist  state  or  whether  a  proletarian  dictatorship  has 
already  been  established  there. 

"It  is,  however,  another  matter  if  it  is  not  a  case  of  the  right  of  the 
oppressed  nation  concerned  to  separate  or  to  maintain  governmental  con- 
tact, but  if  the  question  is  treated  on  its  merits:  whether  it  is  to  work 
for  state  separation,  whether  it  is  to  struggle  for  this  or  not.  This  is  an- 
other question,  on  which  the  stand  of  the  Communists  must  vary  accord- 
ing to  the  concrete  conditions.  If  the  proletariat  has  come  into  power  in 
the  United  States,  the  Communist  Negroes  will  not  come  out  for  but 
against  separation  of  the  Negro  Republic  from  federation  with  the  United 
States.  But  the  right  of  the  Negroes  to  governmental  separation  will  be 
unconditionally  realized  by  the  Communist  Party;  it  will  unconditionally 
give  the  Negro  population  of  the  Black  Belt  freedom  of  choice  even  on 
this  question.  Only  when  the  proletariat  has  come  into  power  in  the 
United  States  the  Communists  will  carry  on  propaganda  among  the  work- 
ing masses  of  the  Negro  population  against  separation,  in  order  to  con- 
vince them  that  it  is  much  better  and  in  the  interest  of  the  Negro  nation 
for  the  Black  Belt  to  be  a  free  republic,  where  the  Negro  majority  has 
complete  right  of  self-determination  but  remains  governmentally  federated 
with  the  great  proletarian  republic  of  the  United  States.  The  bourgeois 


76  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

When  the  bourgeois  national  Djadids  finally  grasped  the 
full  import  of  what  the  Bolsheviks  meant  by  "national" 
self-determination  they  were  horrified.  They  had  yearned 
for  a  constitution,  a  parliament,  an  opportunity  to  de- 
velop native  industry  and  trade,  and  to  exploit  their 
poorer  compatriots  without  Russian  competition  or  inter- 
ference. They  had  dreamt  of  a  prosperous  and  growing 
native  bourgeoisie— liberal,  cultured,  modern— as  the  best 
social  expression  of  a  revolutionized  Noble  Bokhara.  They 
had  hated  the  Emir  and  his  entire  clerical-feudal  set-up. 
However,  now  that  they  had  discovered  what  Bolshevism 
actually  stood  for,  they  knew  that  they  hated  Bolshevism 
even  more.  For  it  was  not  the  refined  and  cultured  bour- 
geois intelligentsia,  but  the  worker  and  peasant  masses, 
led  by  the  most  class-conscious  proletarian  sections,  who 
were  to  be  the  exponents  of  the  national  will!  That  would 
never  do!  If  forced  to  make  a  choice,  the  liberal  Djadids 
would  regretfully  choose  the  clerical-feudal  forces  of  the 
Emir.  One  hope  for  a  "democratic"  government  remained 
and  that  was  Great  Britain,  although,  in  view  of  Britain's 
record  in  Asia,  even  that  was  highly  questionable.  Still  if 
forced  to  the  wall,  the  Djadid  nationalists  would  choose 
even  England  in  preference  to  the  Bolsheviks. 


In  the  Shadow  of  Empires 

The  Emir's  and  the  bourgeois  nationalists'  hopes  of 
British  help  were  based  on  a  sound  evaluation  of  the 
fine  web  of  geographical,  historical,  economic  and  political 
factors  which  entered  into  Russo-British  relations  in  the 
East. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Great  Britain,  besides 
being  a  world  center  of  trade  separated  by  a  narrow  chan- 
nel from  the  European  Continent,  is  a  vast  Asiatic  Em- 
counter-revolutionists,  on  the  other  hand,  will  then  be  interested  in  boost- 
ing the  separation  tendencies  in  the  ranks  of  the  various  nationalities  in 
order  to  utilize  separatist  nationalism  as  a  barrier  for  the  bourgeois 
counter-revolution  against  the  consolidation  of  the  proletarian  dictator- 
ship." 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  77 

pire.  In  India,  Persia,  Afghanistan,  Turkey,  China,  her 
interests  in  Asia  are  all-pervading.  The  Near  East,  the  Far 
East,  the  Middle  East— England  is  everywhere.  Until  the 
relatively  recent  rise  of  Japan,  Great  Britain's  only  serious 
rival  on  the  Asiatic  continent  was  Imperial  Russia.  Like 
an  insatiable  octopus,  the  monster  from  the  north  had 
for  centuries  been  pushing  its  greedy  tentacles  further  and 
further  south,  tightening  their  coils  around  the  Crimea, 
the  Caucasus,  Central  Asia,  crawling  out  to  the  south  and 
east  to  Constantinople,  Persia,  Afghanistan,  India,  Mon- 
golia, China.  It  had  a  vast  hunger  for  the  cotton  bolls  and 
silk  cocoons  of  the  south,  and  a  vast  thirst  for  the  warm 
Mediterranean  and  Indian  waters.  Everywhere  it  found 
Great  Britain  in  its  way.  Not  only  that,  but  England  her- 
self had  been  fixing  a  covetous  eye  on  the  Caucasus  with 
its  oil  and  on  Central  Asia  with  its  vast  riches.  For  decades 
the  two  Giant  Empires  in  the  East  were  making  ready  to 
leap  at  each  other  in  a  life  and  death  struggle.  Occasion- 
ally, when  the  British  lion  was  engaged  elsewhere,  the 
Russian  octopus  would  snatch  as  great  a  piece  of  territory 
as  it  could.  So  it  was  during  the  Boer  War.  While  Britain 
was  busy  in  Africa,  Russia  grabbed  at  Tibet  and  Persia. 
However,  in  1907,  when  Czarist  Russia,  enfeebled  by  war 
with  Japan  and  internal  revolution,  became  fearful  of  the 
ominous  shadow  of  Imperial  Germany  spreading  from  the 
west,  she  temporarily  abandoned  her  expansionist  dreams, 
and  entered  into  a  military  alliance  with  Britain  against 
Germany.  Yet  the  basic  antagonism  between  the  two 
rivals  in  the  East  remained. 

Persia  offers  one  instance.  Ever  since  the  Treaty  of 
Torkmanchei  (1828),  Persia,  deprived  of  her  tariff  au- 
tonomy, had  been  forced  to  yield  greater  and  greater  con- 
cessions to  her  northern  neighbor.  Czarism's  most  insidious 
method  of  directing  Persia's  economic  policy  was  to  grant 
loans  at  exorbitant  interest  to  the  degenerate  Persian 
Shahs.  When  Russia  launched  a  modern  textile  industry 
in  the  latter  half  of  the  last  century,  the  Czars  began  to 
evince  an  increasingly  keen  interest  in  Persia's  cotton- 
growing  regions.  Moreover,  in  order  to  assure  the  arid 


78  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

districts  of  Central  Asia  of  adequate  grain  supplies,  the 
Czars  began  to  feel  an  overpowering  urge  to  lay  hands  on 
the  fertile  provinces  of  Northern  Persia.  At  the  same  time, 
England  was  pressing  her  imperialist  weight  against  Persia 
from  the  South.  Finally  in  1907,  this  country  of  twenty 
million  population,  rich  in  oil,  coal,  iron,  virtually  lost 
her  last  shred  of  independence:  Russia  and  Britain  had 
divided  her  between  themselves  into  "spheres  of  influence" 
—in  the  North,  Russia;  in  the  South,  England,  Afghanistan, 
too,  after  many  years  of  friction  between  England  and  Rus- 
sia, finally  became  an  English  dependency.  With  the  World 
War,  Russia's  dormant  appetite  for  southern  lands  and 
waters  stirred  once  again.  And  in  1915,  to  stimulate  the 
Czar  to  even  greater  sacrifices  of  the  lives  and  the  goods 
of  his  peoples,  Great  Britain  and  France  were  forced  to 
sign  a  secret  agreement  guaranteeing  to  the  Czar  as  one 
of  the  spoils  of  victory  the  Turkish  capital,  the  resplendent 
city  of  Constantinople.  Whatever  the  obstacles,  the 
rapacious  northern  monster  was  pushing  ruthlessly 
southward.  The  conflicting,  fundamentally  irreconcilable 
interests  of  the  two  temporarily  allied  imperialist  rivals 
were  challengingly  reasserting  themselves.  What  held  them 
together  was  the  dread  of  a  victorious  Germany. 

In  Bokhara  it  was  clearly  understood  that  the  Bolshe- 
viks' long-proclaimed  threat  of  withdrawing  Russia  from 
the  war  and  of  confiscating  all  property  belonging  to  land- 
lords, banks  and  foreign  concessions— and  Britain  had  vast 
and  profitable  concessions  in  Russian  gold,  oil,  and  other 
fields— would  break  the  truce  between  the  two  countries. 

Also,  it  was  correctly  argued,  the  Bolshevik  Declaration 
of  Peoples'  Rights  and  particularly  the  Proclamation  ad- 
dressed to  the  Moslem  peoples  of  Russia  and  the  Orient 
were  bound  to  arouse  the  greatest  apprehension  and  the 
bitterest  resentment  of  the  English  imperialists  in  Asia. 
For  it  was  precisely  here  in  Asia— in  India,  in  Persia,  in 
Afghanistan,  in  Turkey,  and  even  in  China— that  English 
imperialism  was  most  relentless  in  exploiting  the  native 
masses.  And  the  Bolsheviks'  dramatic  disavowal  of  Rus- 
sia's czarist  past,  especially  as  regards  her  oppressed  peoples 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  7Q 

of  the  Orient,  naturally  carried  with  it  the  implication 
of  sharp  censure  of  the  predatory  practices  of  the  remain- 
ing imperialist  countries,  chiefly  England. 

There  were  in  Asiatic  Russia  about  thirty  million  Mos- 
lems, several  million  Mongols,  Buriats,  Jews,  Armenians. 
All  those  nationalities,  settled  along  the  southeastern 
borders  of  the  former  empire,  had  national  or  religious 
or  economic  ties  with  millions  of  related  peoples  in  the 
contiguous  lands  which  were  under  English  sway.  And 
Great  Britain  would  certainly  be  greatly  alarmed  over  the 
possibility  of  the  revolutionary  enthusiasm  of  the  released 
peoples  sweeping  across  Russia's  boundaries. 

Even  a  greater  revolutionary  threat  to  England,  it  was 
felt  in  Bokhara,  was  contained  in  the  Bolshevik  announce- 
ment that,  in  addition  to  liberating  all  the  peoples 
enslaved  by  the  Czar,  the  new  workers'  government— vol- 
untarily and  without  expecting  any  compensation— re- 
pudiated and  canceled  all  czarist  treatries,  debts, 
capitulations  and  ambitions  in  the  East.  "Moslems  of  the 
East,"  read  the  declaration,  "Persians  and  Turks,  Arabs 
and  Hindus,  all  of  you  whose  lives  and  properties,  whose 
liberties  and  customs  have  for  hundreds  of  years  been  sold 
and  bartered  by  the  blood-thirsty  European  beasts  of  prey, 
all  you  whose  lands  are  intended  to  be  divided  amongst 
the  robbers  who  have  started  this  war,  we  say  to  you  that 
the  secret  treaties  concerning  the  seizure  of  Constantinople 
signed  by  the  now  deposed  Czar  and  confirmed  by  the 
now  deposed  Kerensky  are  abrogated  and  canceled.  The 
Russian  Republic  and  its  government,  the  Soviet  of 
People's  Commissars,  are  opposed  to  the  seizure  of  some- 
body else's  lands.  Constantinople  should  remain  in  the 
hands  of  the  Moslems.  We  declare  that  the  treaty  about 
the  partition  of  Persia  is  abrogated  and  canceled.  As  soon  as 
military  operations  stop,  the  Russian  armies  will  be  with- 
drawn from  Persia,  and  the  Persians  will  be  assured  their 
right  freely  to  determine  their  political  destiny.  We  de- 
clare that  the  treaty  pertaining  to  the  partition  of  Turkey 
and  the  wresting  of  Armenia  from  her  is  abrogated  and 
canceled." 


80  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

The  Emir  and  his  councilors  understood  very  well  what 
the  revolutionary  domestic  and  foreign  policy  of  the  Bol- 
sheviks meant  to  the  peoples  of  the  East — not  only  to  those 
who  had  for  long  been  chained  to  Russia's  imperial  jugger- 
naut, but  also  to  those  who,  like  Persia,  Afghanistan,  or 
Turkey,  were  in  constant  dread  of  foreign  aggression  and 
occupation,  as  well  as  to  those  millions  in  India  and  China 
and  Korea  who  had  long  been  trampled  under  the  im- 
perial heels  of  England,  France,  Japan,  and  others.  And 
they  felt  reasonably  sure  that  in  Central  Asia  it  would  be 
England  who  would  lead  the  fight  against  the  Bolsheviks. 


VI 
A  COLOSSUS  PROSTRATE 

The  Shah  said:  "Two  truths  are  struggling  in 

heaven" 
The  Shah  said:  "Why  need  you  worry  about 

bread? 
Poverty  is  needed  in  the  world.  Wealth  is  needed 

in  the  world. 

Let  us  wait  for  whatever  lot  befalls  us. 
Glory   to  you,  conquerors,  who   have  drowned 

the  world  in  blood. 
Glory  to  you,  slaves,  who  have  fed  the  world 

with  bread." 

"Lying  foolish  old  man,"  I  answered  the  Shah. 
"Your  words  are  contemptible,"  I  answered  the 

Shah. 
"Everything  on  earth  comes  from  peasants'  and 

workers'  hands, 
Great  and  wonderful  is  their  work,"  I  answered 

the  Shah. 

. . .  Your  evil  world,  your  shop  of  oppression, 
Your  smithy  of  chains,  your  goat-skin  of  malice 

and  fat 

Must  fall  before  the  songs  of  the  Catling  guns 
In   the  firm   hands   of  the  poor  peasants   and 

workers  of  the  world. 

The  time  has  come.   The  arm  of  our  class  is 

strong. 

A  new  world,  without  classes,  will  arise  from  the 
ashes! 

—G.  LAKHUTI,  Tadjik  poet. 
Not  All  Lenins 

EARING  for  his  throne,  recognizing  that  compromise 
ith  the  Bolsheviks  was  impossible,  the  Emir  broke  off 
relations  with  Red  Petrograd  and  declared  intercourse 
with  Soviet  Turkestan  a  capital  offense.  He  began  to  nego- 
tiate definitely  for  help  from  the  Russian  Whites,  the  Eng- 

81 


82  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

lish  imperialists,  the  Afghan  government.  He  began 
feverishly  to  augment  his  army,  increasing  the  already  too 
heavy  taxes  and  taking  vigorous  measures  to  stop  the 
growth  of  revolutionary  sentiment  among  his  subjects  and 
the  increased  activity  among  the  Left  Djadids. 

The  one  great  advantage  he  had  over  the  Reds  was 
that  the  class-conscious  proletarian  stratum  in  Bokhara— 
and  not  only  in  Bokhara,  but  in  the  whole  of  Central  Asia, 
including  the  most  industrialized  Tashkent  and  Kokand 
regions— was  exceedingly  thin  and  narrow,  a  small  group 
of  Russian  and  native  revolutionists  in  the  vast  mass  of 
faithful  Moslems.  The  readiness  of  the  mob  to  lynch  the 
very  moderate  Djadids  during  their  visit  to  Alim  Khan 
indicated  what  treatment  real  rebels  could  expect  at  the 
hands  of  the  fanatics. Then  the  Djadids  were  saved  by  the 
revolutionary  Russian  soldiers  and  workers  from  Kogan. 
But  obviously  there  were  not  enough  Russian  workers  in 
the  Khanate  to  effect  an  overturn  against  the  will  of  mil- 
lions of  natives,  even  if  such  a  course  were  desirable  or 
feasible. 

To  overthrow  the  Emir,  the  Young  Bokharans,  still  too 
weak  to  attempt  anything  by  themselves,  would  have  to 
invite  outside  help,  especially  from  adjacent  Turkestan, 
where  the  few  Russian  railroad  workers  and  Bolsheviks 
who  had  happened  to  be  in  Central  Asia  during  the  Oc- 
tober days  formed  a  revolutionary  soviet  government  at 
Tashkent.  And  that  was  precisely  what  the  Young  Bo- 
kharans did.  They  entered  into  a  secret  agreement  with 
Kolesov,  the  chairman  of  the  Soviet  of  People's  Commis- 
sars in  Turkestan,  who  promised  to  assist  them  with  arms 
and  men.  They  then  began  to  make  energetic  preparations 
for  an  armed  rebellion  and  the  seizure  of  power.  But  be- 
cause of  unforeseen  developments  Kolesov  proved  unable 
to  give  the  promised  aid.  The  Tashkent  Soviet  was  itself 
in  a  highly  precarious  situation  and  was  busy  fighting  for 
its  own  life. 

To  understand  why  the  Emirate  maintained  itself  for 
three  long  years  after  the  Bolsheviks  had  formed  a  govern- 
ment in  Turkestan,  it  is  essential  to  bear  in  mind  that  the 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  83 

course  of  the  revolution  in  Bokhara  depended  in  a  thou- 
sand different  ways  on  the  vicissitudes  of  the  struggles 
elsewhere  in  Central  Asia,  especially  in  the  adjacent 
regions.  Any  Bolshevik  mistakes  or  weaknesses  or  diffi- 
culties anywhere  in  Central  Asia  had  their  immediate 
repercussions  in  Bokhara.  "The  end  of  the  Bolsheviks 
is  at  hand,"  the  Emir  would  gloat.  "The  end  of  the  Bol- 
sheviks is  near,"  the  Young  Bokharans  would  lament. 
And  of  course  there  were  always,  especially  at  the  outset, 
plenty  of  reasons  for  the  optimism  of  the  one  and  the 
pessimism  of  the  others. 

The  main  reason  was  the  overwhelmingly  Russian  com- 
position of  the  revolutionary  organizations  in  Central 
Asia.  Even  in  the  Bolshevik  Party  itself  there  was  at  first 
little  harmony  between  the  Russian  and  the  few  native 
workers  and  intellectuals.  The  general  differences  in  race, 
language,  tradition  and  culture  were  aggravated  by  the 
great  and  apparently  irreconcilable  psychological  differ- 
ence between  the  representatives,  albeit  proletarian  and 
peasant  representatives,  of  a  victoriously  imperialist  people 
and  of  a  subject  colonial  one. 

The  cardinal  task  of  a  proletarian  revolutionary  party 
in  a  colonial  peasant  country  is  to  attract  the  peasant 
masses,  to  wean  them  away  from  reactionary,  feudal,  and 
clerical  influences,  is,  in  short,  to  revolutionize  that  most 
potent,  though  ordinarily  inert,  stratum  of  society.  In  con- 
tradistinction to  the  technique  of  the  imperialists,  who 
cooperate  with  the  native  rulers  in  exploiting  the  native 
masses,  the  technique  of  the  Bolshevik  posits  unqualified 
cooperation  with  the  native  masses  in  eradicating  both 
foreign  and  native  capitalist  exploiters.  This  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly exacting  technique,  and  calls  for  a  highly  ex- 
perienced, homogeneous,  and  genuinely  revolutionary 
organization  and  leadership. 

The  Bolshevik,  particularly  if  he  happens  to  be  a  mem- 
ber of  a  formerly  dominant  race  or  nationality,  must  win 
the  confidence  of  the  native  masses,  must  convince  them 
of  his  sincerity,  must  impress  them  with  his  tact,  sympathy, 
familiarity  with  local  conditions.  He  must  be  open,  com- 


84  DAWN   OVER   SAMARKAND 

radely.  The  least  trace  of  prejudice  or  patronage  in  his 
attitude  is  bound  to  cause  resentment  and  stir  suspicion. 
No  one  was  more  aware  of  all  this  than  was  Lenin.  He 
once  said  to  his  Russian  comrades: 

...  in  the  question  of  nationality  it  is  not  possible 
to  proceed  from  the  assumption  that  economic  unity 
is  necessary  at  any  price.  Necessary,  of  course,  it  is. 
But  we  must  attain  it  through  propaganda,  through 
agitation,  through  a  voluntary  union.  The  Bashkirs, 
for  instance,  distrust  the  Russians  because  the 
Russians  are  at  a  higher  level  of  civilization  and  have 
used  their  civilization  to  rob  the  Bashkirs.  Conse- 
quently in  these  remote  districts  the  name  Russian 
means  "oppressor."  . . .  We  must  take  that  into  ac- 
count, we  must  combat  it.  But  that  takes  a  long  time. 
It  is  not  to  be  got  rid  of  by  decree.  We  must  go  to 
work  on  this  very  cautiously.  Above  all  such  a  nation 
as  the  Russians,  who  have  excited  a  hatred  in  all  other 
nations,  must  be  particularly  cautious.  We  have  only 
now  learnt  to  manage  better,  and  even  that  only  some 
of  us  as  yet.  This  tendency  still  exists  in  many  of  us, 
and  we  must  wrestle  with  it. 

Consequently,  we  must  say  to  the  other  peoples 
that  we  are  internationalists  through  and  through,  and 
are  striving  for  a  voluntary  union  of  the  workers  and 
peasants  of  all  nations 

In  Central  Asia,  especially,  the  Bolsheviks  needed  great 
diplomatic  skill,  for  the  influential  native  ruling  groups 
were  cleverly  utilizing  the  prevailing  fear  and  hatred  of 
the  Russians  for  their  own  purposes.  As  against  the  Bol- 
sheviks' class  slogans,  they  appealed  to  the  nationalist,  re- 
ligious, and  family  loyalties  and  prejudices  of  the  ignorant 
and  fanatical  natives.  This  was  so  everywhere— in  Tash- 
kent, in  Khiva,  in  Kokand,  and,  of  course,  in  Bokhara. 

Unfortunately,  even  in  the  metropolises,  not  all  Bol- 
sheviks were  Lenins,  and  certainly  in  remote  Central  Asia 
the  first  Bolshevik  leaders  were  not  especially  distinguished 
for  their  revolutionary  experience  or  mastery  of  the  funda- 
mentals of  Marxism. 


STRUGGLE    FOR    POWER  85 

"Before  admitting  the  Moslem  masses  to  social  and 
political  activity,"  maintained  some  of  the  local  Russian 
Bolsheviks,  "they  must  first  go  through  a  period  of  de- 
velopment and  training  in  the  socialist  spirit."  And  at  the 
Fourth  Congress  of  the  Turkestan  Soviets  which  met  in 
November,  1917  (shortly  after  the  Bolshevik  Revolution), 
a  certain  Tobolin,  speaking  in  the  name  of  the  Bolshevik 
fraction  at  the  Congress,  enunciated  the  following  prin- 
ciple: "At  present  the  policy  of  including  Moslems  in  the 
regional  organs  of  our  Revolutionary  government  is  un- 
acceptable, first,  because  of  the  native  population's  un- 
certain attitude  toward  the  Soviet  Power;  second,  because 
of  the  absence  of  such  native  proletarian  organizations 
whose  representatives  might  be  welcomed  into  the  higher 
organs  of  our  Revolutionary  government." 

Obviously,  at  the  beginning,  some  of  the  local  Bol- 
sheviks regarded  the  native  masses  with  a  definite  feeling 
of  superiority  or  at  least  distrust— an  attitude  which  seemed 
to  justify  the  Emir's  assertions  that  the  Bolshevik  Revolu- 
tion in  Central  Asia  was  being  imposed  by  a  foreign  force 
upon  an  unwilling  population.  Even  the  pro-Soviet  or- 
ganizations of  native  workers— the  Union  of  Toiling  Mos- 
lems in  Fergana,  the  Ittafak  in  Samarkand,  the  Union  of 
Building  Trades  in  Tashkent— were  not  sufficiently  drawn 
into  the  work.  It  was  only  in  June,  1918,  eight  months  after 
the  Bolshevik  Revolution,  that  the  First  Congress  of  the 
Communist  Party  in  Turkestan  adopted  a  resolution  urg- 
ing "complete  confidence  in  the  Moslem  workers"  and 
allowing  "their  admission  into  the  ranks  of  the  Red 
Army." 

The  resolution  did  not  come  any  too  soon.  The  utterly 
un-Bolshevik  and  anti-Leninist  attitude  condemned  by  the 
Congress  would  undoubtedly,  if  persisted  in,  have  brought 
about  the  alienation  of  the  native  masses  and  the  ultimate 
destruction  of  the  Soviet  Government  in  the  whole  of 
Central  Asia.  Certainly  it  would  have  precluded  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  Soviet  Government  in  Bokhara  for  a  very  long 
time.  Though  a  grievous  mistake  was  finally  corrected, 
eight  months  had  irretrievably  slipped  by,  and  very  little 


86  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

had  been  accomplished  in  winning  over  large  masses  of 
the  native  population  to  the  revolution,  into  the  Red 
Army,  into  the  Bolshevik  Party. 


Speculating  on  Difficulties 

This  brings  us  to  the  second  reason  for  the  Emir's  joy 
and  the  Young  Bokharans'  grief  over  what  they  thought 
was  the  probable  downfall  of  the  Bolsheviks  in  Central 
Asia. 

The  Bolsheviks'  initial  mistakes— inept  approach  to  the 
native  masses;  failure  to  wreck  completely  the  old  govern- 
mental machinery  and  the  various  nests  of  their  class 
enemies,  fatal  alliance  with  the  Left  Socialist-Revolution- 
ists, and  the  failure  as  a  result  of  these  mistakes  to  gain 
immediate  popular  support— encouraged  their  ubiquitous 
enemy.  Making  counter-revolutionary  capital  out  of  every 
Bolshevik  misstep  and  difficulty,  the  opposition  was  be- 
ginning to  put  up  rival  local  governments  and  to  wage 
civil  war.  Small  wonder  Kolesov  could  not  keep  his  prom- 
ise to  the  Young  Bokharans. 

Just  at  the  time  when  with  Kolesov's  aid  the  armed  in- 
surrection was  to  take  place  in  Bokhara,  two  events  oc- 
curred which  threatened  the  very  existence  of  Kolesov 
and  the  Turkestan  Soviets:  the  loss  of  contact  with  the 
Central  Government  in  Russia,  and  the  formation  of  an 
anti-Bolshevik  Government  in  Kokand.  Tashkent  was  in 
danger,  and  Kolesov's  small  and  poorly  equipped  forces 
suddenly  became  involved  in  two  major  military  oper- 
ations. 

The  first  operation  and  the  most  protracted  one  was 
against  General  Dutov.  At  the  head  of  an  army  of  pros- 
perous Siberian  Cossacks  and  Czarist  officers,  Dutov  had 
seized  the  strategic  Orenburg  station  on  the  Moscow- 
Tashkent  railroad.  The  seizure  is  known  in  the  annals  of 
those  years  as  the  "Dutov  cork"  or  the  "Orenburg  cork," 
Orenburg  being  the  bottle-neck  of  East- West  transport. 
Dutov's  action  immediately  stopped  all  communication 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  87 

between  the  European  and  Central-Asian  centers  of  the 
Soviet  Government  and  arrested  the  transport  of  grain, 
arms,  or  Red  forces  to  Turkestan.  Turkestan  was  isolated, 
and  exposed  to  starvation.  All  efforts  to  dislodge  Dutov 
and  liquidate  his  "cork"  proved  vain.  Worse.  Not  satisfied 
with  holding  Orenburg,  Dutov  began  to  press  against 
Turkestan,  combining  his  activities  with  those  of  the  other 
White  forces  in  Central  Asia  and  carrying  on  negotiations 
with  the  English  interventionists.  The  task  of  the  Turkes- 
tan Soviets  on  the  Tashkent  line  was  to  hold  back  Dutov's 
armies— a  very  difficult  task  which  consumed  no  end  of 
energy  and  which  lasted  nearly  two  years. 

Right  on  the  heels  of  Dutov's  capture  of  Orenburg, 
about  five  weeks  after  the  October  Revolution,  came  the 
organization  of  an  anti-Bolshevik  Government  in  the  Old 
City  of  Kokand  (the  New  City  was  under  the  sway  of  the 
Soviets). 

As  a  base  for  anti-Soviet  activities,  Kokand  was  a  happy 
choice.  It  was  a  commercial  and  cotton  center,  with  a 
relatively  large  middle-class  population  and  a  very  small 
contingent  of  revolutionary  proletarians  and  Russian  rail- 
road workers.  Moreover,  it  was  far  from  Tashkent,  i.e., 
far  from  the  leading  revolutionary  city  in  Central  Asia, 
where  the  main  Red  forces  were  located. 

While  in  Bokhara  the  revolutionists  were  making  ready 
for  the  overthrow  of  the  Emir,  in  Kokand  the  Fourth  All- 
Turkestan  Congress  of  Moslem  Deputies  proclaimed 
Turkestan  an  autonomous  Republic,  and  proceeded  to 
elect  a  national  government— a  council  and  a  ministry— 
from  among  the  upper  industrial  and  commercial  bour- 
geoisie and  its  "intellectual"  supporters.  Judging  by  its 
composition,  the  Kokand  government  was  nothing  but  the 
political  department  of  the  local  cotton  kings:  "Usuf 
Davydov,  Poteliskhov,  Vodyaiev,  et  al."  For  the  sake  of 
preserving  a  united  front  against  the  Bolsheviks,  the  re- 
actionary clerical  and  feudal  interests,  though  relegated 
to  a  secondary  position,  were  supporting  the  progressive 
bourgeois  government. 

The  Emir  of  Bokhara  was  happy— the  end  of  Bolshe- 


88  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

vism  was  near!  The  Russian  counter-revolutionists  in 
Central  Asia,  too,  were  joyous,  becoming  suddenly  trans- 
formed from  aggressive  imperialists  and  exponents  of  the 
theory  of  "superior  and  inferior  races"  into  perfervid  up- 
holders of  national  independence  for  Turkestan  under 
the  hegemony  of  the  native  bourgeoisie.  Anything  was 
preferable  to  proletarian  dictatorship.  And  to  the  credit 
of  the  bourgeoisie,  both  native  and  Russian,  be  it  said 
that  at  the  outset  it  evinced  much  greater  willingness  and 
capacity  for  class  solidarity  than  did  the  native  and  Russian 
proletarian  and  peasant  masses.  One  third  of  the  "Na- 
tional" government  was  made  up  of  representatives  of  the 
Russian  bourgeoisie. 

At  the  beginning,  the  Kokand  government  confined 
itself  to  high-sounding  declarations  and  persistent  notes 
demanding  recognition  from  the  Soviet  Government.  At 
the  same  time  it  made  hasty  preparations  for  the  inevitable 
struggle.  Money  was  gathered  through  subscriptions  and 
a  government  loan.  A  hired  army  was  organized.  Propa- 
gandists were  sent  out  to  secure  the  cooperation  of  other 
Central-Asian  cities.  Sympathetic  demonstrations  were 
organized  throughout  the  Bokhara  Emirate— in  Samar- 
kand, Bokhara,  and  in  numerous  other  towns  and  villages. 

The  Turkestan  Soviets  were  at  that  time  engaged  in  a 
desperate  struggle  with  Dutov's  armies  and  were  quite 
unable  to  undertake  anything  practical  to  combat  the 
counter-revolutionary  government  at  Kokand.  Hence  the 
Soviets,  too,  were  forced  to  resort  to  declarations  promis- 
ing an  autonomous  Soviet  Republic  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Turkestan.  In  this  battle  of  declarations  the  Kokand  gov- 
ernment had  the  advantage  of  being  by  race,  religion,  and 
language  closer  to  the  population.  It  out-maneuvered  the 
Bolsheviks  even  in  its  handling  of  the  native  workers.  In 
January,  1918  the  Kokand  Government  called  a  "Moslem 
Worker's  and  Warrior's  Congress,"  at  which  a  considerable 
number  of  right-wing,  petty-bourgeois  delegates  from  the 
Union  of  Toiling  Moslems  and  the  Ittafak  were  present. 
The  Congress  endorsed  the  bourgeois  government  of 
Kokand.  Thus,  under  the  very  noses  of  the  Bolsheviks,  the 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  89 

native  and  Russian  bourgeoisie  in  Turkestan  were  con- 
solidating their  forces  and  gaining  the  cooperation  of 
those  sections  of  the  working  population  which,  but  for 
the  myopia  of  the  local  Bolsheviks,  would  naturally  be 
wholly  on  the  side  of  the  Soviets.  Soon  the  Kokand  govern- 
ment thought  it  could  afford  to  adopt  more  aggressive 
tactics.  It  appealed  to  Dutov  for  armed  aid  and  Dutov 
ordered  several  Cossack  detachments  to  advance  along 
the  Central  Asian  railroad  and  help  the  counter-revo- 
lution in  Kokand. 

In  Bokhara,  the  Emir  was  jubilant.  The  Young  Bok- 
harans,  bitterly  disappointed  by  Kolesov's  procrastination, 
were  in  a  state  of  deep  dismay.  However,  before  long 
friction  began  to  develop  in  Kokand  among  the  supporters 
of  the  bourgeois  regime.  The  feudal  and  clerical  elements, 
who  had  the  best  military  force  under  the  able  leadership 
of  Irgash,  now  began  to  demand  greater  authority.  To 
rely  on  them  in  the  struggle  against  the  Bolsheviks  meant 
in  the  end  to  yield  to  them  the  government,  a  thing  the 
more  progressive  bourgeois  elements  were  reluctant  to  do. 
The  class  contradictions  between  the  feudal-agrarian  group 
and  the  bourgeois  commercial-industrial  group  became 
sharpened. 

The  scale  began  to  tip  toward  the  Reds  who,  secretly 
represented  by  the  Russian  Poltoratsky  at  the  "Worker's 
and  Warrior's  Congress,"  finally  realized  their  advantage 
and  resorted  to  a  decisive  measure.  Poltoratsky  struck  at 
the  "holy  of  holies"  of  the  government,  by  confiscating  the 
money  deposited  by  the  bourgeoisie  in  the  Kokand  State 
Bank.  This  was  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of  open  war. 

The  bourgeois  government  was  in  an  unenviable  pre- 
dicament. Too  weak  to  fight  the  Soviets  alone,  it  yet  was 
too  jealous  of  its  power  willingly  to  give  carte  blanche  to 
the  feudal  and  clerical  forces  (Ulema)  headed  by  Irgash. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  was  too  fearful  of  the  possible  rev- 
olutionary consequences  which  an  appeal  to  the  peasant 
masses  against  both  Irgash  and  the  Bolsheviks  might  entail. 
Reluctantly  it  turned  to  Irgash  for  support.  But  here  the 
essentially  democratic,  petty-bourgeois  representatives  of 


9O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  workers'  organizations  bolted— they  would  not  hear  of 
clerical-feudal  supremacy.  These  inner  contradictions 
within  the  Kokand  government  spelled  its  doom.  On  Feb- 
ruary 18,  Irgash  arrested  several  of  the  government  "min- 
isters," and  the  rest  of  the  government  fled.  Meanwhile  the 
Soviets  had  been  rapidly  gaining  power.  The  Ulemists 
declared  "gazawat"— holy  war— against  the  Soviets,  too, 
carrying  their  violent  propaganda  into  the  mosques  and 
the  streets.  A  mob  of  several  thousand,  armed  with  knives, 
guns,  clubs,  tried  to  seize  the  Bolshevik  fortress  in  the 
New  City.  The  same  day,  however,  detachments  of  Kole- 
sov's  army  arrived  in  Kokand.  Irgash  refused  to  surrender 
and  disarm.  The  Red  armies  launched  an  offensive  against 
the  Old  City.  Irgash's  army  was  smashed.  Irgash  himself 
escaped.  The  bourgeois  government  of  Kokand  was  dead. 
After  the  fall  of  the  Kokand  government,  the  influence 
of  the  native  and  Russian  bourgeoisie  in  Central  Asia 
began  to  decline,  and  the  forces  of  counter-revolution  com- 
menced to  flock  to  the  banner  of  the  clerical-feudal  ele- 
ments. Guerrilla  detachments,  organized  by  the  Ulema, 
established  close  contact  with  various  Russian  counter- 
revolutionary organizations,  with  Dutov,  with  the  Bok- 
haran  Emir,  and  primarily  with  the  English,  from  whom 
they  obtained  arms  and  financial  support. 


Another  Emir  Hoax 

With  the  Kokand  menace  "liquidated,"  Kolesov  finally 
turned  his  attention  to  Bokhara.  It  was  high  time.  By 
February,  1918,  conditions  in  the  Khanate  rendered  the 
struggle  with  the  Emir  exceedingly  urgent.  The  great 
influx  of  Whites  from  Kokand  and  elsewhere  was  rapidly 
rendering  Bokhara  the  most  dangerous  spot  of  anti-Soviet 
activity  in  Central  Asia,  especially  since  it  became  known 
that  the  Emir  was  in  touch  with  the  British  intelligence 
service  in  Meshed  (Persia)  and  the  British  Political  Resi- 
dent (George  Macartney)  in  Chinese  Turkestan.  Macart- 
ney, after  establishing  secret  contact  with  Dutov  and 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  Ql 

various  other  underground  anti-Bolshevik  organizations 
and  groups,  had  approached  the  Emir;  and  the  Emir 
naturally  expressed  great  eagerness  to  join  any  projected 
united  front  of  struggle  against  the  Bolsheviks. 

However,  Kolesov  was  too  intoxicated  with  his  victory 
in  Kokand  and  he  underestimated  the  Emir's  strength. 
Relying  on  a  small  army  and  the  assistance  of  about  three 
hundred  Young  Bokharans,  he  and  Faizulla  Khodzhaiev, 
who  was  then  the  chairman  of  the  executive  committee  of 
the  Young  Bokharan  organization,  issued  an  ultimatum 
to  the  Emir.  They  demanded  immediate  reforms  to  be  put 
into  effect  by  a  body  elected  from  the  central  committee 
of  the  Young  Bokharans  and  headed  by  the  Emir  himself. 

The  Emir  hedged  for  time.  Kolesov  refused  to  wait 
and  ordered  his  troops,  accompanied  by  the  three  hundred 
Young  Bokharans,  to  advance  on  the  city.  According  to 
Faizulla  Khodzhaiev  himself,  the  resistance  offered  by  the 
loyal  followers  of  the  Emir  was  genuinely  heroic.  "The 
fanatical  adherents  of  the  old,  the  mullahs,  though  badly 
armed— with  knives,  axes,  rusty  swords— fought  desperately. 
I  myself  saw  how  one  of  them,  holding  a  cudgel  in  his  hand 
and  a  long  knife  in  his  mouth,  advanced  unflinchingly 
against  our  machine  guns  and  hurled  himself  against  and 
killed  one  of  our  gunners."  Still,  the  revolutionary  troops 
were  victorious.  Seeing  that  he  was  beaten,  the  Emir  sued 
for  peace,  granting  all  the  demands  of  the  revolutionists. 
There  was  now  no  reason  to  doubt  his  sincerity,  and  Kole- 
sov ordered  the  army  to  return  to  Kogan,  the  New  City. 

The  Emir  issued  a  second  Manifesto,  much  more  radical 
than  the  first.  It  read: 

In  the  name  of  Our  great  God,  We  proclaim  to  Our 
entire  people  that  a  nation  can  have  no  greater  happi- 
ness than  the  possession  of  equality  and  liberty.  We 
fully  realize  that  if  Our  people  be  denied  its  rights 
and  its  liberty,  if  the  administration  be  not  reformed 
in  the  spirit  of  the  times,  We  shall  fail  to  attain  a 
happy  and  peaceful  life  in  Our  land.  We  recognize 
that  the  primary  cause  of  the  backwardness,  darkness, 
ignorance  of  Our  people  is  due  to  the  inadequacy  of 


g  2  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Our  administrative  organization  and  to  the  people's 
enslavement. 

Having  become  conscious  of  these  circumstances 
and  having  determined  to  better  the  lot  of  Our  people 
and  Our  country,  We  had  issued  a  Manifesto  eleven 
months  ago,  which,  thanks  to  the  machinations  of  a 
few  satraps,  remained  inoperative. 

This  brought  down  great  evils  upon  Our  people. 

Since  Our  chief  aim  is  the  happiness  and  freedom 
of  Our  people,  We,  in  issuing  this  second  Manifesto, 
hereby  proclaim  before  Our  people  that  this  docu- 
ment represents  Our  firm  decision. 

To  insure  the  happiness  of  Our  people,  the  follow- 
ing measures  will  be  put  into  effect. 

In  a  long  list  of  reforms,  the  Emir  promised  a  demo- 
cratic government,  freedom,  the  abolition  of  corporal  and 
capital  punishment,  tax  reforms,  etc.  In  the  concluding 
paragraph,  the  Emir  exclaimed:  "There  are  not  in  this 
world  such  satrap  forces  that  could  force  Us  to  deviate 
from  these  decisions." 

Kolesov  and  the  Young  Bokharans  now  demanded  im- 
mediate disarmament  of  the  enemy's  forces.  Again  the 
Emir  hedged,  saying  that  while  he  personally  should  be 
happy  to  fulfill  this  demand,  his  soldiers  and  mullahs  were 
so  aroused  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  persuade  them  to 
lay  down  their  arms.  The  revolutionists  were  adamant. 
The  Emir  begged  for  three  days  in  which  to  disarm;  Kole- 
sov reduced  it  to  twenty-four  hours.  According  to  the  ar- 
rangement the  revolutionists  were  to  send  a  committee  to 
supervise  the  disarmament  of  the  Emir's  troops,  and  im- 
mediately after  that  the  Young  Bokharans  were  peacefully 
to  occupy  the  city. 

While  Kolesov  and  the  Young  Bokharans  waited  in  the 
New  City  for  news  from  Bokhara,  the  Emir  seized  and 
executed  their  representatives  and  hastily  reorganized  his 
forces,  preparing  to  attack  and  wipe  out  the  small  forces 
of  the  revolutionists.  In  this  he  was  brilliantly  successful. 

Conditions  favored  the  Emir.  He  gained  time,  not  only 
to  concentrate  his  troops  in  numbers  sufficient  to  over- 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  93 

come  the  relatively  small  contingent  of  insurgents,  but 
also  to  take  full  advantage  of  the  most  vulnerable  spot  in 
his  enemy's  ranks,  namely,  the  presence  of  Russians.  His 
slogan  was:  Resist  the  foreign  invaders.  He  declared  a  holy 
war  against  the  infidels,  the  foreigners,  and  the  traitors 
who  had  sold  out  their  country  and  their  faith.  A  mighty 
outburst  of  chauvinism  and  religious  fanaticism  shook  the 
ancient  city,  An  army,  35,000  strong,  rose  to  the  defense 
of  country  and  faith.  Before  the  revolutionists  realized  it, 
they  were  surrounded.  True,  they  had  one  advantage,  ar- 
tillery. But  even  this  seemed  to  work  against  them.  A 
cannonade  which  lasted  thirty-six  hours  brought  absolutely 
no  results;  not  one  shell  struck  the  city.  This  circumstance 
was  hailed  by  the  mullahs  as  proof  that  Allah  and  Mo- 
hammed protected  the  holy  city  against  the  ravaging 
weapons  of  the  infidels.  When  ammunition  was  almost 
exhausted,  Kolesov  smashed  through  the  enemy  ranks  and 
beat  a  hasty  retreat  toward  Tashkent. 

Such  was  the  inglorious  end  of  the  Young  Bokharans' 
first  attempt  to  overthrow  the  Emir.  Those  who  could, 
fled;  the  rest  were  massacred.  People  who  had  evinced  the 
slightest  sympathy  with  the  Young  Bokharans  were 
dragged  from  their  homes  and  clubbed  to  death.  The  out- 
rages spread  through  the  entire  Khanate.  Within  the 
country  there  was  no  escape  from  the  bloody  vengeance 
of  the  Emir. 


Barking  Jackals 

Again  the  Emir  was  jubilant.  And  his  joy  almost  passed 
all  bounds  when  a  couple  of  months  later  he  learned 
from  Macartney's  agents  that  the  English  were  moving 
their  armies  in  the  direction  of  Persia  and  Transcaspia 
toward  the  Soviet  borders  and  that  in  April  a  special 
English  Mission  had  been  despatched  from  India  to  Soviet 
Turkestan  for  the  purpose  of  financing  and  coordinating 
all  the  anti-Red  operations  in  Central  Asia. 

Throughout  the  summer  of   1918,  the  English  were 


94  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

hastily  building  railroads  and  highways  to  expedite  the 
transport  from  India  of  newly  formed  Anglo-Indian  mili- 
tary units.  Also  in  the  northern  and  southeastern  sections 
of  Persia,  the  English  military  staff,  stationed  at  Meshed, 
had  organized  a  hired  army  of  natives.  Similar  military 
preparations  were  being  made  farther  west,  extending  from 
Mesopotamia  through  Persian  Azerbaidjan  to  the  Caspian. 
Close  contact  was  established  with  the  counter-revolution- 
ists in  Ashkhabad  (Turkmenistan). 

By  July  the  Emir  was  in  an  even  happier  frame  of  mind: 
with  the  aid  of  the  English  the  Soviet  power  in  Ashkhabad 
was  overthrown,  and  an  anti-Soviet  government  was  es- 
tablished. Well  he  knew  what  a  severe  blow  that  was  to 
his  formidable  foe,  Soviet  Turkestan.  The  ring  of  counter- 
revolution was  tightening.  Soon  Soviet  Turkestan  would 
be  crushed  by  the  Ashkhabad  armies  and  at  last  he  would 
breathe  a  bit  easier.  Of  one  thing  he  was  reasonably  cer- 
tain—the Turkestan  Soviets  would  be  too  busy  on  the 
Transcaspian  front  to  be  "meddling"  with  his  affairs  in 
Bokhara. 

The  organization  of  the  anti-Soviet  government  at  Ash- 
khabad was  preceded  by  a  period  of  bloody  strife  and 
celebrated  by  the  execution  of  nine  Bolshevik  leaders  on 
July  15,  1918.  Immediately  preparations  were  started  for 
an  attack  on  Tashkent.  This,  the  Emir  knew,  was  in  ac- 
cordance with  carefully  worked  out  plans.  An  uprising 
against  the  Soviet  power  in  Turkestan  had  been  plotted 
in  various  cities  in  Central  Asia  for  several  months.  The 
Central  Committee  of  the  underground  anti-Soviet  "Mili- 
tary Organization  of  Turkestan,"  located  in  Tashkent,  had 
kept  up  steady  contact  with  the  English  in  the  Caspian 
region  through  its  Ashkhabad  branch.  According  to  the 
plans,  all  uprisings  against  the  Soviets  in  Central  Asia  were 
to  be  synchronized,  all  anti-Soviet  activities  were  to  be 
coordinated.  This  was  a  sound  plan.  The  leaders  of  the 
Ashkhabad  organization,  however,  took  it  into  their  heads 
to  assume  the  initiative  and  to  place  themselves  at  the  fore- 
front of  the  entire  anti-Soviet  movement.  They  were  no 
doubt  encouraged  by  the  proximity  of  the  English  forces, 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  95 

as  well  as  by  the  apparently  favorable  objective  conditions: 
Dutov  was  still  in  Orenburg,  the  Urals  and  Siberia  were 
in  the  hands  of  Czecho-Slovaks  and  the  Whites;  the  Emir 
was  still  in  Bokhara.  Exposed  to  hunger  and  civil  war, 
Soviet  Turkestan,  they  were  certain,  could  scarcely  offer 
serious  resistance.  The  peace  delegates  sent  by  the  Soviet 
Republic  of  Turkestan,  headed  by  the  Bolshevik  Polto- 
ratsky  who  had  previously  distinguished  himself  in  Ko- 
kand, were  arrested  and  Poltoratsky  was  shot.  Newly 
formed  White  troops  were  hurled  against  Chardjui,  on 
the  road  to  Tashkent.  However,  at  Chardjui  the  counter- 
revolution in  Transcaspia  suffered  the  first  set-back.  The 
workers  rose  to  a  man  in  defense  of  the  city.  The  White 
troops  were  repulsed  to  Kaakhka,  where  they  reorganized 
into  the  formidable  and  ultimately  determining  Trans- 
caspian  front.  In  the  circle  of  counter-revolution  around 
Soviet  Turkestan,  that  front,  armed,  financed  and  even 
officered  by  the  English,  held  out  against  Bolshevik  on- 
slaughts for  almost  two  years. 

And  from  Khiva,  too,  cheering  news  was  pouring  into 
Bokhara.  There  was  a  time  when  Emir  Alim-Khan  was 
greatly  worried  over  the  turn  events  had  taken  in  the 
neighboring  Khanate.  Rumors  had  reached  him  in  the 
early  months  of  1918  that  a  wild  revolutionist  named 
Djunaid  Khan,  at  the  head  of  a  large  army  of  Turkoman 
nomads,  was  leading  a  bloody  insurrection  against  the  real, 
legitimate,  divinely  ordained  ruler  of  Khiva.  Later  he 
heard  that  Djunaid  Khan  had  been  successful,  that  while 
his  friend  Khan  Asfendior  and  his  viziers  were  the  nominal 
rulers,  it  was  Djunaid  Khan  who  was  the  real  power  in  the 
state.  It  was  a  bad  business,  a  very  bad  business!  The  Emir 
was  grieved  not  only  over  the  troubles  of  his  friend  and 
fellow-ruler,  but  also,  and  chiefly,  over  the  possibility  of 
the  Red  menace  spreading  beyond  the  Khiva  borders  into 
his  own  domain. 

Now  authentic  news  arrived  that  Djunaid  Khan  was 
not  a  Red  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  "rugged  indi- 
vidualist," a  man  with  a  consuming  ambition  to  become 
Khan  himself.  He  was  behaving  like  a  real  ruler,  too.  In- 


96  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

stead  of  organizing  Soviets  of  workers  and  peasants  and 
thus  spoiling  the  population,  he  was  building  his  own 
power  and  authority,  by  disciplinary  ruthlessness,  and, 
of  course,  the  squeezing  of  enormous  contributions  from 
towns,  villages,  bazaars,  and  individuals. 

That  Djunaid  was  just  the  type  of  ruler  who  would 
meet  with  the  enthusiastic  approval  of  Emir  Alim-Khan 
can  be  judged  from  the  following  gruesome  account  by 
A.  K.  Akchurin,  an  eye-witness  of  the  results  of  Djunaid's 
rule: 

The  peaceful  Uzbek  population  writhed  in  the 
claws  of  the  tyrant.  In  full  daylight  the  Turkoman 
hordes  raided  settlements,  slaughtered  people  like 
sheep,  grabbed  their  belongings,  and  what  they  were 
unable  to  take  along,  they  would  set  on  fire.  When  I 
was  in  Khiva  in  1919,  I  had  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  observe  the  results  of  Djunaid's  rule.  Traveling 
150  miles  in  the  Chimboi  and  Zair  regions  (along  the 
shore  of  the  Aral,  where  the  Amu-Daria  falls  into  the 
Sea),  I  did  not  meet  a  living  soul.  The  burned  and 
ruined  houses,  scattered  corpses,  ravaged  homes, 
charred  trees,  broken  cribs,  barking  jackals,  and  nause- 
ating stench  gave  one  a  feeling  of  horror.  Many  of  my 
companions  broke  down  at  the  sight  of  this  terrible 
devastation,  some  became  hysterical.  On  our  way  back, 
we  avoided  this  locality,  by  taking  a  much  longer 
roundabout  way.  The  towns  of  what  once  was  the 
prosperous  Khiva  Khanate  presented  a  melancholy 
picture,  indeed.  The  bazaars  were  deserted.  Rarely, 
rarely  did  one  stumble  upon  a  ghastly  Uzbek  roam- 
ing through  the  narrow  depopulated  streets,  or  slink- 
ing behind  the  tumble-down  clay  fences.  However, 
no  sooner  would  a  Red  Army  man  appear  in  the 
streets  than  a  crowd  of  Uzbeks  would  instantaneously 
gather.  They  would  kiss  his  hands,  his  feet,  they  would 
grasp  at  his  cloak  and  rub  with  it  their  inflamed  eyes, 
they  would  lovingly  stroke  his  rifle.  Even  women 
would  remove  their  veils  and  caress  him.  They  did 
not  fear  their  husbands;  for  the  Red  Army  man  was 
not  simply  a  man,  an  ordinary  visitor;  he  was  their 
protector,  their  savior  from  violence  and  ruin. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  97 

More  than  the  Uzbeks  even  suffered  the  Khiva  Kazaks. 
In  certain  regions  the  entire  Kazak  population  was  an- 
nihilated. Hundreds  of  young  Kazak  women  were  taken 
by  Djunaid  Khan  into  captivity  and  treated  as  slaves.  The 
Emir  was  especially  happy  to  hear  that  Djunaid  was  co- 
operating with  the  Whites  and  the  English  on  the  Trans- 
caspian  front  by  constantly  threatening,  annoying,  and 
occasionally  attacking  the  Red  Armies  from  the  rear. 


The  Basmachi 

Another  source  of  deep  satisfaction  to  the  Emir  was  the 
astonishingly  quick  spread,  under  his  and  English  patron- 
age, of  the  so-called  Basmach  or  Brigand  movement  in 
Turkestan,  especially  in  Fergana. 

Writers  on  Central  Asia  often  use  the  term  "Basmachi" 
indiscriminately  to  describe  the  numerous  lawless  bands 
of  distinctly  different  social  origin  that  had  infested  the 
deserts  and  mountains  of  the  region  long  before  and  for 
a  considerable  time  after  the  Bolshevik  Revolution.  On 
the  basis  of  a  purely  external  similarity,  this  term  has  been 
applied  to  two  social  phenomena  quite  distinct  in  origin 
and  purpose. 

I  have  mentioned  in  a  previous  chapter  how  the  ex- 
tension of  cotton-growing  in  Central  Asia  resulted  in  the 
impoverishment  of  the  native  peasantry  and  how  the 
Czars'  artificial  interference  with  the  development  of  a 
native  industry  which  might  have  absorbed  the  surplus 
village  population  caused  the  appearance  of  bands  of  des- 
perate peasants  who,  having  no  other  outlet,  took  to 
brigandage  and  crime.  Those  peasant  brigands  were  one 
type  of  social  phenomenon  often  referred  to  as  Basmachi. 
They  were  not  revolutionists.  They  had  no  political  aims. 
Their  sole  purpose  was  to  steal  enough  money  and  goods 
to  keep  themselves  and  their  families  from  starvation. 
Theirs  was  a  purely  sporadic,  elemental  rebellion.  Though 
symptomatic  of  a  profound  economic  and  social  malad- 


98  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

justment,  their  activities  had  absolutely  no  conscious 
political  import. 

The  other  social  phenomenon  covered  by  the  same  term 
is  also  a  form  of  brigandage,  but  belongs  in  its  inception 
to  the  post-revolutionary  period,  and  is  rooted,  not  in  the 
peasantry,  but  in  a  combination  of  the  native  bourgeois, 
feudal  and  clerical  elements  disinherited  by  the  Revo- 
lution. 

Up  to  the  February  Revolution,  the  national  liberation 
movement  in  Turkestan  was  essentially  a  unified  move- 
ment, despite  its  motley  social  composition.  Under  its 
nationalist  banner  were  gathered  progressive  representa- 
tives of  the  native  industrial  and  commercial  bourgeoisie, 
a  small  number  of  liberal  clergymen,  members  of  the 
small  professional  class,  and  even  representatives  of  the 
worker,  artisan,  and  peasant  classes.  The  reason  for  this 
unity  is  clear.  Each  of  these  classes  and  social  groupings 
had  its  own  grudge  against  Russian  imperialism,  each 
suffered  in  its  own  way.  And  the  consciousness  of  common 
suffering  welded  these  essentially  antagonistic  groups  into 
a  revolutionary  nationalist  entity. 

To  be  sure,  within  the  nationalist  liberation  movement 
in  Turkestan  there  were  shades  of  difference  with  regard 
to  pan-Islamism,  with  regard  to  questions  of  tactics  and 
other  points.  On  the  whole,  however,  those  differences 
were  relatively  negligible.  The  leadership  accepted  also 
by  the  workers  and  peasants  was  in  the  hands  of  the  na- 
tionalist petty-bourgeois  intelligentsia.  Potential  class  an- 
tagonisms were  temporarily  forgotten  in  the  common 
struggle  against  the  foreign  imperialist  oppressor. 

In  Turkestan,  as  elsewhere  in  Russia,  the  February 
Revolution  revealed  the  gaping  chasm  between  the  work- 
ers and  peasants  and  tjie  other  classes.  The  majority  of  the 
nationalist  bourgeoisie,  satisfied  with  having  fulfilled  its 
task  of  national  liberation,  was  ready  to  withdraw  from  the 
battlefield  and  plunge  into  an  orgy  of  capitalist  expansion 
and  unrestrained  exploitation.  The  illusion  of  national 
unity  vanished  like  a  puff  of  smoke.  The  more  advanced 
workers,  artisans  and  peasants  viewed  the  February  events 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  QQ 

as  the  beginning  rather  than  the  end  of  revolutionary 
struggle.  This  was  especially  true  of  those  who  had  had  more 
intimate  contact  with  the  imperialist  war  and  the  inhuman 
exploitation  in  the  war  industries.  Incidentally,  in  the 
great  war  the  colonial  troops  from  Central  Asia  had  not 
been  used  in  active  fighting;  they  had  been  forced  to  take, 
without  pay,  the  most  onerous  jobs  in  the  rear  or  in  the 
war  industries.  Those  Central-Asian  workers  and  peasants 
had  been  in  European  Russia,  had  heard  the  message, 
learned  the  language,  and  taken  to  heart  the  slogans  of  the 
revolutionary  Russian  proletariat.  Upon  returning  home, 
they,  with  the  few  Russian  revolutionists,  became  the 
inspirers  of  the  class  struggle  among  the  native  masses.  It 
was  they  who,  shortly  after  the  February  overturn,  organ- 
ized in  Tashkent  the  "Soviet  of  Moslem  Workers"  in 
opposition  to  the  bourgeois  "Soviet  of  Moslems"  (Shura- 
i-Islamia).  It  was  they,  too,  who  organized  the  native  work- 
ers of  Tashkent  into  labor  unions,  which  later  played  a 
very  significant  part  in  the  class  struggle  in  Central  Asia. 
It  was  they,  again,  who  formed  in  Fergana  the  "Union  of 
Toiling  Moslems."  A  similar  organization,  Ittafak,  was  or- 
ganized in  Samarkand.  At  first,  all  of  these  organizations 
were  under  the  influence  of  the  Mensheviks  and  Socialist- 
Revolutionists.  But  as  the  revolution  unfolded,  the  Bol- 
sheviks began  to  gain  ascendancy,  and  before  long  the 
"Union  of  Toiling  Moslems"  formed  a  political  bloc  with 
the  local  Bolshevik  organizations  and  launched  a  vigorous 
attack  against  the  nationalist  bourgeoisie.  So  intense  was 
the  struggle  that  on  October  12,  1917,  a  little  over  a  week 
before  the  Bolshevik  revolution,  a  small  group  of  Ule- 
mists  slew  five  members  of  the  "Union"  at  a  meeting  in 
Kokand. 

When  the  October  Revolution  broke  out,  the  "Union 
of  Toiling  Moslems"  in  Fergana  and  the  "Soviet  of  Mos- 
lem Workers"  in  Tashkent  were,  if  not  actually,  then  at 
least  potentially,  on  the  side  of  the  Bolsheviks.  Such  is 
the  logic  of  all  revolutions.  Sham,  veneer,  superficialities 
are  bound  ultimately  to  vanish  in  its  light.  Only  the  basic 
realities  survive.  While  the  workers  of  Central  Asia  were 


100  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

advancing  to  the  revolution,  the  progressive-liberal  bour- 
geoisie, deprived  of  its  wealth  and  of  its  right  to  exploit, 
showed  its  true  nature  by  rapidly  degenerating  into  a 
violent,  bitterly  reactionary  group  of  organized  counter- 
revolutionists.  The  bourgeois  government  of  Kokand  was 
their  first  counter-revolutionary  venture.  When  that  was 
frustrated,  they  adopted  guerrilla  warfare  as  a  method  of 
fighting  the  Soviets. 

Thus  a  new  content  was  poured  into  the  old  form  of 
Basmach  brigandage.  The  class  composition  of  the  Bas- 
mach  bands  underwent  a  radical  change.  Instead  of  the 
poorest  peasants  disinherited  by  the  Czar's  regime,  the 
predominant  elements  in  the  Basmach  bands  of  the  post- 
October  period  were  representatives  of  classes  disinherited 
by  the  revolution.  Also,  the  Basmach  activities  lost  their 
purely  elemental  character:  directed  by  the  deposed  lead- 
ers of  the  Kokand  Republic  and  by  the  English  repre- 
sentatives stationed  in  Chinese  Turkestan,  they  now 
became  the  coordinated  efforts  of  a  political  movement— 
Basmachestvo  or  Basmachism— with  a  definite  political 
objective,  the  overthrow  of  the  Soviet  Government. 

It  is  fascinating  to  study  shifts  in  political  alignments, 
how  erstwhile  political  friends  became  irreconcilable 
enemies  and  how  intransigent  political  opponents  became 
close  political  allies.  We  have  seen  how  opposition  to  Rus- 
sian imperialism  and  native  reaction  united  all  the  pro- 
gressive elements  of  Central  Asia  in  one  revolutionary 
movement.  We  have  seen  how  the  fall  of  the  Czar's  im- 
perialist government  caused  the  split  in  the  revolutionary 
ranks.  The  common  objective  achieved,  the  antagonisms 
among  the  various  groups  within  the  revolutionary  move- 
ment began  to  manifest  themselves.  Within  a  few  months 
there  was  a  complete  reshuffling  of  forces.  The  workers, 
poor  peasants,  the  liberal  bourgeoisie,  and  clergy,  once 
united  in  their  fight  upon  native  reaction  and  foreign 
imperialism,  found  themselves  after  the  establishment  of 
the  Soviet  regime  and  the  proletarian  dictatorship  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  barricades.  The  liberals,  the  erstwhile 
"revolutionists,"  were  incensed  against  the  new  regime. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  1O1 

They  had  hailed  February,  but  they  were  bitter  in  their 
denunciation  of  October.  In  search  of  political  allies,  they 
discovered  the  reactionary  feudal,  clerical,  and  bureau- 
cratic group,  their  erstwhile  enemies.  Though  basically 
opposed  to  each  other,  they  had  one  thing  in  common,  a 
passionate  hatred  for  the  Soviets.  In  the  Basmach  move- 
ment the  two  united. 

These  groups  formed  the  upper  thin  layer  of  counter- 
revolution in  Central  Asia.  They  supplied  the  ideological 
and  military  leadership.  The  basic  fighting  contingents, 
however,  were  drawn  from  the  kulaks  and,  during  the  first 
couple  of  years,  from  the  middle  peasants.  The  kulak's 
support  of  the  Basmach  movement  was  quite  natural;  the 
middle  peasant's  requires  explanation. 

The  psychology  of  the  middle  peasant  the  world  over 
is  dual.  Whereas  the  rich  peasant  is  predominantly  a  prop- 
erty owner  and  an  exploiter,  and  the  poor  peasant  pre- 
dominantly a  propertyless  toiler,  the  middle  peasant  has 
some  of  the  economic  and  therefore  psychological  char- 
acteristics of  both.  He  is  not  an  exploiter,  but  a  property 
owner  who  works  his  own  fields.  As  a  toiler,  he  naturally 
gravitates  to  the  poor  peasant,  the  worker,  and  the  Soviet 
regime,  but  as  a  property  owner  he  is  also  drawn  to  the 
kulak,  the  bey,  the  mullah,  the  Basmachi.  Tact,  diplomacy, 
subtle  strategy  might  have  won  the  middle  peasant's  sup- 
port of  the  revolution.  Unfortunately,  as  I  have  shown,  the 
Bolsheviks  in  Central  Asia  were  too  weak  and  too  inex- 
perienced. The  appeal  of  the  counter-revolution  to  the 
conservative  property-owner  in  the  middle  peasant  at  first 
proved  much  stronger  than  the  appeal  of  the  revolution 
to  the  dissatisfied  toiler  in  him.  Rumors,  founded  and  un- 
founded, about  the  nationalization  of  all  property,  con- 
fiscation of  goods,  prohibition  of  worship,  unveiling  of 
women,  closing  of  mosques,  etc.,  drove  the  middle  peasant 
into  the  ranks  of  the  Basmachi  or,  at  best,  made  of  him  a 
neutral  rather  than  a  revolutionary  force. 

Living  conditions,  instead  of  improving,  were  steadily 
becoming  worse.  This  naturally  was  blamed  on  the  revo- 
lution. As  a  result  of  "Dutov's  cork"  no  grain  was  being 


102  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

imported  into  Central  Asia.  Even  the  few  local  industries 
ceased  functioning.  The  cotton-growing  peasant  began  to 
feel  the  horror  of  literal  hunger  and  wholesale  unemploy- 
ment. Add  to  this  the  ignorance,  fanaticism,  and  cultural 
backwardness  of  the  native  masses  on  the  one  hand  and  the 
inexperience,  inefficiency,  mistakes,  and  vacillation  of  the 
preponderantly  Russian  Soviet  authorities  on  the  other, 
and  you  have  a  fair  notion  of  the  great  attraction  that  the 
Basmach  movement  had  for  the  middle  peasant  at  that  time. 
There  were  also  powerful  outside  factors  that  favored 
the  Basmachi.  It  is  noteworthy  that  though  the  Basmach 
leaders  of  all  shades  of  opinion  were  unanimously  vocifer- 
ous in  their  nationalist  protestations,  they  did  not  spurn 
the  financial  help,  active  cooperation,  and  occasionally 
even  the  leadership  of  their  life-long  enemies— the  repre- 
sentatives of  Russian  imperialism  and  Russian  capitalism. 
Here,  too,  the  unifying  force  was  a  common  hatred  and  a 
common  objective.  In  their  determination  to  crush  the 
Soviets,  the  native  bourgeois  nationalists,  Moslem  clergy, 
Russian  imperialists,  Greek  Catholic  priests  and  of  course 
the  Bokhara  Emir  were  at  one. 


Perfidious  Albion 

What  threw  the  Emir  and  his  highest  collaborators  into 
veritable  raptures,  however,  was  the  arrival  in  Bokhara, 
some  time  in  November,  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  F.  M. 
Bailey.  Bailey  brought  word  of  an  anti-Bolshevik  uprising 
in  Tashkent  planned  for  the  middle  of  January.  The  Colo- 
nel knew  whereof  he  spoke.  He  was  the  head  of  the  Special 
Mission  which  His  Majesty's  Government  had  dispatched 
to  Soviet  Turkestan  in  the  spring.  The  other  two  in  the 
Mission  were  Major  L.  V.  S.  Blacker,  "an  officer  of  ability 
and  resource  and  well  fitted  for  such  an  undertaking"  and 
Lieutenant-Colonel  P.  T.  Etherton,  a  man  who  had  made 
"a  close  study  of  political,  economic,  and  commercial 
questions  affecting  Central  Asia"  and  for  whom  the  prob- 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER 

lems  of  the  East  "generally  possessed  a  peculiar  fascina- 
tion." 

In  his  book,  In  the  Heart  of  Central  Asia,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Etherton  takes  us  as  much  into  his  confidence 
concerning  the  Mission's  designs  and  activities  as  his  of- 
ficial position  permits.  "The  opening  of  1918,"  he  writes, 
"was  significant  for  the  developments  inimical  to  Allied 
interests,  not  only  in  Europe,  but  in  Asia,  where  the 

safety  of  our  Empire  in  the  East  was  threatened The 

Bolshevik  revolution  had  created  a  new  set  of  ideas.  These 
fanatics  relied  not  upon  the  only  feasible  machinery  of 
readjustment  of  international  disputes,  but  upon  a  world- 
wide reconstruction  which  should  emancipate  every  race 
and  tribe  and  effect  a  total  transformation  of  human 
nature.  Self-determination  was  the  watchword,  a  doctrine 
which  if  carried  to  its  logical  conclusions,  must  result  in 
anarchy  and  widespread  enmity,  jealousy,  and  chaos. . . . 
Such  in  brief  were  the  dangers  confronting  us  in  the 
Asiatic  theater,  and  it  was  therefore  essential  that  we 
should  gain  and  maintain  touch  with  the  situation  be- 
tween the  Caspian  Sea  and  Chinese  Turkestan." 

Though  ignorant  of  Bolshevik  theory,  the  agent  of 
British  imperialism  in  the  East  intuitively  felt  that  the 
"new  set  of  ideas"  of  the  Bolsheviks  was  potentially  much 
more  of  a  menace  to  English  domination  in  the  Orient 
than  all  of  the  Czar's  armies  in  the  past. 

The  English  government  was  aware  of  the  "close  con- 
nection established  between  Russian  Turkestan,  the  Cau- 
casus, and  the  states  there  which  had  disclosed  their 
ambition  for  autonomy."  It  was  aware  also  of  certain 
"overtures"  that  had  been  made  to  Afghanistan  with  the 
purpose  of  creating  a  Mohammedan  State  comprising  that 
country  plus  Central  Asia  plus  the  Caucasus,  as  well  as  of  the 
creation  of  a  bourgeois-nationalist  government  in  Kokand. 
The  English  felt,  therefore,  that  "the  moment  was 
opportune  for  the  exploitation  of  pro-autonomous  sen- 
timents" and  the  "considerable  body  of  opinion  well- 
disposed  towards  the  Allied  cause."  Hence,  "a  small 
British  military  organization  was  essential  from  which  the 


104  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

antennae  could  radiate  for  the  acquisition  of  information, 
and  to  exploit  whatever  appeared  favorable." 

In  the  characteristic  euphemisms  of  the  diplomat,  Mr. 
Etherton  proceeds  to  elaborate  on  the  specific  tasks  of 
the  spying  mission.  It  was  designed  to  place  His  Majesty's 
Government  "in  touch"  with  the  Soviets,  to  "investigate 
amongst  other  matters"  (which  "other  matters"  is  not 
indicated)  "the  cotton  question,  and  to  keep  au  courant 
of  the  situation  as  it  then  was." 

Mr.  Etherton's  innocent  reference  to  "cotton,"  is  some- 
what amplified  further  in  the  book.  "In  1918,"  relates  Mr. 
Etherton,  "vast  stocks  of  cotton  were  lying  in  Central 
Asia. . . .  The  fate  of  those  stocks  of  cotton  was  a  matter  of 
moment . . .  and  I  consequently  received  orders  from  the 
Home  Government  to  report  as  to  the  possibility  of  secur- 
ing and  transporting  the  entire  stock  to  Kashgar." 

Though  Mr.  Etherton  does  not  divulge  it,  the  purpose 
of  this  whole  scheme  was  to  deprive  Soviet  Russia  of 
Central  Asian  cotton.  The  textile  industry  in  the  central 
regions  of  Russia,  in  such  revolutionary  centers  as  Moscow 
and  Ivanovo-Voznesensk,  subsisted  mainly  on  Central 
Asian  cotton,  and  only  partly  on  American.  With  the  latter 
excluded,  and  Central  Asian  cotton  withdrawn,  the  Soviet 
textile  industry  would  be  completely  paralyzed,  unemploy- 
ment and  dissatisfaction  in  the  chief  industrial  region 
would  increase,  and  the  main  industrial  product— textiles 
—for  which  the  city  obtained  food  from  the  village  would 
be  lacking.  However,  the  whole  scheme  proved  chimerical. 
It  would  have  taken  750,000  camels  to  move  the  cotton, 
and  the  cost  of  transport  alone  "would  have  totaled 
twenty-two  million  rupees."  The  idea  had  to  be  aban- 
doned. 

Also,  it  was  the  resolution  of  the  Mission  "to  penetrate 
to  Tashkent,  the  center  of  Soviet  fanaticism  . . .  where  a 
[Bolshevik]  propaganda  school  was  formed  for  the  train- 
ing of  agitators  who  would  go  forth  to  India,  Afghanistan, 
Chinese  Turkestan,  and  all  the  countries  of  the  Middle 
and  Far  East,  to  preach  the  gospel  of  Bolshevism  and  pre- 
pare the  way  for  universal  class  warfare."  To  counteract 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  105 

the  propaganda  of  the  "ruthless  fanatics"  and  to  insure 
the  "safety  and  welfare  of  the  British  Empire,"  the  Mis- 
sion, too,  was  "to  initiate  and  put  into  effective  operation 
a  system  of  propaganda,  a  powerful  weapon  that  eventu- 
ally became  so  potent  a  factor  during  the  war."  By  "the 
war"  Mr.  Etherton,  of  course,  means  subsequent  English 
open  intervention  in  Central  Asia  and  the  Caucasus. 

Lieutenant-Colonel  P.  T.  Etherton,  His  Majesty's 
Consul-General  and  Political  Resident  in  Chinese  Turk- 
estan, remained  in  Kashgar  to  continue  from  the  Chinese 
border  the  anti-Soviet  activities  of  his  predecessor  Macart- 
ney. His  companions,  according  to  plans,  made  their  way 
to  Tashkent.  They  were  soon  followed  by  Macartney. 

On  August  21,  the  Tashkent  paper  Nasha  Gazeta  re- 
ported: "An  English  Mission  consisting  of  two  officers  and 
one  secretary  has  just  arrived  in  this  city.  The  Mission 
left  India  April  20,  and  Kashgar  July  24.  In  an  interview, 
the  head  of  the  Mission  informed  the  representative  of 
this  paper  that  the  Mission  has  come  to  Tashkent  on  the 
instructions  of  the  English  Consul-General  in  Kashgar 
with  the  purpose  of  studying  the  state  of  affairs  in  the 
Republic  and  of  dissipating  the  false  rumors  about  the 
would-be  intention  of  England  to  interfere  through  Af- 
ghanistan in  the  internal  affairs  of  the  Turkestan  Repub- 
lic. The  Mission  protests  against  these  rumors  and  suggests 
that  they  are  of  German  fabrication.  The  mission  plans  to 
remain  here  indefinitely." 

That  the  Mission's  friendly  protestations  were  thor- 
oughly hypocritical,  the  statements  quoted  from  Mr.  Eth- 
erton are  ample  proof.  In  addition  to  Etherton's  testimony, 
however,  we  have  the  memoirs  of  General  Zaitsev,  a  Rus- 
sian White  who  worked  hand  in  hand  with  the  Mission. 
According  to  him,  the  real  purpose  and  intention  of  the 
Mission  were:  "To  prepare  and  organize  armed  uprisings 
against  the  Soviet  Power  in  Turkestan,  and  to  arrange  for 
the  supply  of  the  rebel  detachments  with  arms  and  money 
from  the  nearest  English  bases,  Meshed,  Kashgar,  Af- 
ghanistan." 

At  that  time  the  English  armies  had  already  occupied 


1O6  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Murmansk  and  Archangel  and  were  engaging  the  Soviet 
armies  on  the  Transcaspian  front.  But  the  English  Mission 
now  joined  by  George  Macartney  in  Tashkent  was  all 
smiles,  courtesy,  suavity,  and  amity.  They  were  there  only 
to  "study,"  and  to  dissipate  false  rumors! 

The  work  of  the  Mission  in  Tashkent  was  facilitated  by 
the  protection  it  received  from  the  members  of  the  local 
government  who  belonged  to  Left  Socialist-Revolutionist 
organizations  which  were  then  on  the  verge  of  breaking 
with  the  Bolsheviks. 

By  the  middle  of  September,  before  Blacker  and  Macart- 
ney left  for  India,  the  Mission  had  succeeded  in  further 
strengthening  Britain's  ties  with  counter-revolutionary 
Central  Asia— with  the  leaders  of  the  feudal-clerical  forces 
in  the  Basmach  movement,  the  bourgeois  nationalists,  the 
Bokhara  Emir,  the  Russian  Mensheviks,  Socialist-Revolu- 
tionists, and  all  the  other  forces  who  coalesced  around  the 
underground  military  organizations  with  headquarters  at 
Tashkent.  Colonel  Bailey  managed  to  prolong  his  stay  in 
Tashkent,  in  a  semi-official  capacity,  as  late  as  November 
first.  Finally,  it  was  proved  that  he  was  engaged  in  plotting 
against  the  government.  When  he  was  about  to  be  ar- 
rested, Bailey  fled  to  the  Bokharan  Emir,  who  had  by  that 
time  become  the  mainstay  of  counter-revolution  in  Central 
Asia. 


Vulture's  Feast 

It  was  obvious  that  things  were  going  from  bad  to 
worse  for  the  Reds.  And  almost  every  messenger  to  the 
Emir  from  the  underground  Tashkent  branch  of  the 
counter-revolutionary  "Military  Organization  of  Turk- 
estan" confirmed  him  in  his  resolution  to  hold  out— despite 
the  rapid  disintegration  of  Bokhara's  economic  life. 

Severance  of  relations  with  Russia  deprived  Bokhara  of 
its  best  market.  She  began  to  choke  with  a  superabundance 
of  raw  materials  and  starve  for  the  lack  of  manufactured 
products.  The  Emir  made  a  dash  for  the  markets  of  Af- 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  107 

ghanistan  and  India  and  Persia,  but  those  markets  could 
not  take  the  place  of  Russia.  Cotton-growing  and  the  com- 
mercial and  industrial  enterprises  connected  with  it  began 
to  decline  with  catastrophic  rapidity.  Bankruptcies  began 
to  multiply  by  the  hundred.  A  sharp  financial  crisis,  a 
cessation  of  trade  and  industry,  a  febrile  enhancement  of 
the  military  forces,  rampant  reaction— such  were  condi- 
tions in  Bokhara.  And  the  only  thing  that  sustained  the 
morale  of  the  Emir  and  his  feudal  and  clerical  supporters 
was  the  news  from  other  parts  of  Central  Asia.  This  news 
may  be  summarized  as  follows: 

December  28:  The  rich  peasants  in  the  Semi- 
rechie  region  have  risen  against 
the  Soviets. 

January  22,  1919:  A  White  Guard  uprising  in  Tash- 
kent. Fourteen  leading  Bolsheviks 
shot. 

April  18:  Red  Army  defeated  near  Aktiu- 

binsk,  retreats  to  Kandagach. 

May  9:  Red  Army  at  Kandagach  suffers 

colossal  defeat,  retreats  to  Kuduk- 
Emba. 

June  23-26:  Red  Army  suffers  another  defeat 

at  the  Em  ha  station. 

July  21:  Annenkov's  White  armies  occupy 

Semirechie. 

July  26:  The  White  armies  are  surround- 

ing the  Reds  who  are  forced  to 
flee  to  the  Aral  Station  on  the 
Aral  Sea. 

August  18:  Annenkov's  armies  have  wrested 

Cherkask,  Petropavlovsk  and  An- 
tonovo  from  the  Reds  in  Semi- 
rechie. 

August  22:  In  Fergana,   the  peasants  led  by 

the  beys  and  the  mullahs  have 
formed  detachments  and  joined 
the  Basmachi  in  open  war  against 
the  Soviets. 


108  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

September  7:  In  Fergana,  the  peasants  and  Bas- 

mach  forces  have  taken  the  city 
Osh,  and  have  completely  sur- 
rounded the  Red  Army  under 
Safanov. 

October  24:  Flight  of  Red  Army  into  the  Ko- 

pala  region  before  the  pressure  of 
Annenkov's  forces  in  Semirechie. 

October  24:  In  Fergana,  Mandaminbek  and 

Monstrov,  heading  the  anti-Soviet 
peasant  detachments,  formed  a 
"Provisional  Government  of  Fer- 
gana." 

December  5:  The  Red  operations  against  Man- 

daminbek's  Basmach  forces  in  the 
Garbua  Region  collapse. 

December  30:  Annenkov's  armies,  after  having 
pressed  the  Reds  all  the  way  to 
Djarkent  and  Bogoslovskoie,  are 
now  raiding  these  Red  strong- 
holds. 

Of  course,  there  were  other  messages,  messages  of  Soviet 
victories,  of  greater  and  greater  numbers  of  the  natives 
joining  the  Red  forces,  but  such  messages  were  too  few  and 
far  between  seriously  to  undermine  the  Emir's  faith  in 
the  solidity  of  his  throne. 

Altogether,  throughout  the  year  1918  and  the  larger 
part  of  1919,  the  Red  forces  in  Central  Asia  were  fighting 
a  bitter  and,  what  most  of  the  time  seemed,  a  hopeless 
struggle.  Tiny  detachments  of  ragged,  hungry  workers, 
lacking  arms,  lacking  fuel,  lacking  means  of  transporta- 
tion, lacking  experienced  leadership,  insulated  from  any 
contact  with  the  center  by  a  fiery  circle  of  class  enemies- 
monarchists,  bourgeois  nationalists,  counter-revolutionists, 
English  imperialists— carried  on  a  long  heroic  war  in  the 
arid  sands,  devastated  valleys  and  inaccessible  mountains 
of  these  remote  regions.  Blunders,  failures,  defeats  without 
end. 

Take  the  struggle  against  Annenkov's  White  Cossack 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  1OQ 

Regiments  in  Semirechie.  Surrounded  on  all  sides,  the 
peasantry  of  Semirechie  put  up  one  of  the  most  heroic, 
stubborn  fights  in  the  history  of  the  Civil  War.  Men, 
women,  children  fought  in  the  trenches.  There  was  no 
food,  and  worst  of  all,  no  salt.  Soon,  too,  all  the  ammuni- 
tion was  used  up.  The  temporary  surrender  of  the  Cher- 
kask  region  before  the  superior  and  well-equipped  forces 
of  Annenkov,  was  followed  by  wholesale  massacres  and 
destruction  of  property.  The  peasants  and  their  families 
fled  into  the  mountains.  "It  is  interesting  to  recall  how 
we  lived  at  that  time,"  one  of  the  participants  of  this 
struggle  once  told  me.  "We  had  no  money;  so  we  stamped 
little  pieces  of  paper  which  we  used  as  our  medium  of 
exchange.  Before  long,  even  this  proved  superfluous.  For, 
forced  by  necessity,  we  collectivized  everything,  forming 
a  primitive  kind  of  military  commune.  While  some  fought, 
the  others  worked  the  fields,  or  repaired  the  barns,  or  took 
care  of  the  stock.  We  were  dressed  in  raw  hides,  we  had  no 
more  cattle,  and  began  to  eat  our  horses  for  which  we  had 
no  forage.  Everybody  worked,  everybody  fought,  including 
our  women  and  children." 

Similar  conditions  prevailed  in  the  Urdjar  region.  To 
fight  Annenkov,  who  had  destroyed  their  villages,  the 
Urdjar  peasants  organized  a  detachment  that  subsequently 
became  famous  as  the  "Mountain  Eagles."  In  the  words 
of  the  peasant  Trofimov,  one  of  the  Mountain  Eagles,  "it 
was  we  who  finally  took  the  city  of  Urdjar.  We  seized  most 
of  the  equipment  and  arms  that  belonged  to  the  general's 
army,  and,  after  losing  only  35  killed  and  16  wounded, 
rapidly  retreated.  Our  families,  old  and  young,  followed 
us  into  the  mountains.  It  was  late  autumn.  So  we  dug  holes 
in  the  ground,  and  there  we  lived.  It  was  bitter  cold.  Soon 
heavy  snow  covered  the  mountains.  There  was  nothing 
to  eat.  We  simply  turned  into  predatory  bandits,  raiding 
settlements  and  carrying  away  with  us  anything  we  could 
lay  our  hands  on.  Every  warrior  had  four  cartridges— two 
loaded  and  two  empty.  While  you  used  the  loaded  cart- 
ridges, the  empty  ones  were  being  filled  in  our  shop.  We 
had  a  special  shop.  You  shoot,  while  the  shop  fills  your 


HO  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

empty  cartridges.  Our  women  connoitered  and  smuggled 
powder  from  Chuguchak.  We  also  fought  with  knives, 
pitch  forks,  clubs,  axes,  and  what  not/' 

It  was  the  same  everywhere  else  in  Central  Asia— enemies 
within,  enemies  without,  enemies  all  around.  For  a  brief 
period,  in  1918  and  part  of  1919,  it  seemed  that  the  cen- 
trifugal forces  of  the  Revolution  were  in  ascendancy.  The 
old  Empire  was  disintegrating.  Rival  governments  were 
sprouting  up  everywhere.  The  revolutionary  colossus 
seemed  to  be  prostrate,  stretching  its  bleeding,  torn  body 
over  two  continents.  It  still  swung  out  its  fists  in  a  furious 
determination  to  survive.  But  it  seemed  hopeless.  A  little 
more  pressure  on  the  choked  throat  and  all  resistance 
would  be  gone;  the  imperialists  with  the  Emirs,  Khans, 
mullahs,  beks,  beys,  and  all  the  other  vultures,  would 
croak  triumphantly  in  a  sanguinary  feast  over  the  dis- 
membered, mangled  corpse. 

Yes,  for  a  brief  period,  just  about  when  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Bailey  was  visiting  Alim  Khan,  it  seemed  that 
the  grandiose  plans  of  British  Imperialism  would  soon  be 
realized.  The  fertile  valleys,  the  large  spaces,  the  mineral- 
laden  mountains,  the  multitudinous  peoples  of  Central 
Asia  and  the  Caucasus  would  at  last  be  sucked  into  the 
English  Empire.  The  prospects  were  indeed  excellent. 
Turkey  was  beaten,  crushed.  The  Arab  East  had  already 
become  an  English  possession.  Persia  lay  helpless  under 
the  tramping  feet  of  the  British  armies.  Caucasia  was 
shackled  hand  and  foot  by  the  Scotch  battalions  and  the 
English  Fleet  in  the  Black  and  Caspian  Seas.  In  Cabul, 
the  Afghan  capital,  sat  a  spineless  government  completely 
under  English  sway.  Germany  had  surrendered.  The  Brit- 
ish army  and  navy  could  now  be  hurled  full  force  against 
the  Bolsheviks— in  Siberia,  in  Murmansk,  in  the  Far  East, 
in  the  South 

But  to  the  amazement  of  the  whole  world  and  the  deep 
chagrin  of  the  Emir  and  his  supporters  the  Revolution 
held  out.  In  desperate  struggles,  in  the  fire  of  intervention 
and  civil  war,  the  originally  weak,  inexperienced,  and 
ideologically  amorphous  local  organizations  gradually 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  111 

hammered  themselves  into  sharp,  invincible  weapons 
that  ultimately  insured  the  Bolshevik  triumph  in  Central 
Asia.  It  was  by  tenacity,  daring,  devotion  to  the  revolu- 
tionary cause  that,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  next  chapter,  the 
Bolsheviks  finally  won  their  victories.  This  has  been  ac- 
knowledged even  by  the  bitterest  detractors  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. "It  is  sufficient  to  point  out,"  wrote  the  White 
emigre*  Potekhin  in  1921,  "the  incredible  fact  of  the  exist- 
ence in  1918-1919  of  the  Turkestan  Soviet  Republic.  Com- 
pletely cut  off  from  Moscow,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
Dutov's,  Kolchak's,  Annenkov's,  Denikin's,  and  the  Eng- 
lish -armies,  deprived  of  transport,  fuel,  grain,  the 
Turkestan  Bolsheviks  managed  to  hold  their  own  even  in 
those  most  difficult  years!" 


VII 
ANOTHER  VICTORIOUS  PAGE 

"O  ye  rich  and  bloated  ones!" 

The  Leader  speaks— 
"Cast  your  gold  away  and  riches  — 

"Your  house's  ablaze! 
"The  flames  of  time  encircle  you 

"Your  house's  ablaze!" 
In  the  thunder-voice  of  storm! 

The  Leader  speaks. 

Through  rain  and  sleet,  o'er  mountains  and 

deep  valleys 
The  Leader  speaks, 
'Neath  scorching  sun,  'neath  gleam   of  distant 

stars 

The  Leader  speaks, 
To  rising  masses  in  Bombay 

The  Leader  speaks, 
In  the  thunder-voice  of  storm 
The  Leader  speaks. 

—From  Uzbek  Worker  Song. 


Britain's  Outraged  Dignity 

THE  Emir  was  so  engrossed  in  celebrating  the  succes- 
sion of  Bolshevik  failures  in  his  own  Khanate,  in 
Transcaspia,  in  Caucasia,  in  Khiva,  in  Semirechie,  and  in 
the  Urals,  that  he  failed  to  notice  that  immediately  around 
him  things  were  rapidly  heading  toward  a  crisis.  He  did 
not  realize  that  even  his  victory  over  the  Young  Bokharans 
in  the  spring  of  1918  was  illusory,  that  the  blood  of  the 
Bokharan  and  Russian  revolutionists,  flowing  in  a  common 
stream,  had  predetermined  the  path  which  the  revolution 
would  follow,  that  common  struggle  and  common  sacri- 
fice would  ultimately  make  the  tie  between  the  masses 
of  Bokhara  and  the  Russian  revolutionary  proletariat  well- 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  11$ 

nigh  indissoluble.  In  the  words  of  a  Young  Bokharan  who 
had  participated  in  that  struggle,  "Our  common  errors, 
credulity,  and  failure  had  their  historical  justification  and 
revolutionary  compensation.  It  taught  us  to  work  together. 
It  taught  us  not  to  be  credulous.  It  stirred  the  indignation 
of  vast  masses  of  people  who  had  never  before  been  touched 
by  our  propaganda.  It  tore  the  halo  from  the  Emir's  head." 

To  be  sure,  outwardly  it  seemed  that  the  Young  Bo- 
kharans  were  still  languishing  in  inactivity,  most  of  them 
refugees  in  Tashkent,  the  rest  lying  quietly  "under- 
ground" in  Bokhara.  But  what  the  Emir  failed  to 
understand  was  that  time  was  on  their  side,  that  with  the  in- 
creased taxes,  the  lack  of  manufactured  products,  the 
catastrophic  decline  in  trade,  and  the  spread  of  unemploy- 
ment, life  itself  was  preparing  the  soil  for  the  revolution. 

The  humble,  pious  peasants,  the  mainstay  of  the  Emir's 
power,  were  beginning  to  heed  the  revolutionary  slogans 
which,  despite  all  of  the  Emir's  precautions,  charged  the 
atmosphere.  They  were  turning  in  growing  numbers  to 
the  left.  And  his  soldiers,  too,  irregularly  paid,  under- 
nourished, ill-clad,  ill-housed,  decimated  by  epidemics, 
were  beginning  to  grumble  and  desert. 

The  Emir  knew  little  of  the  powerful  fermentation  that 
was  developing  in  the  lower  strata  of  his  subjects.  The 
revolutionary  movement  was  gaining  a  mass  base.  From 
the  liberal  middle-class  elements  which  had  been  fright- 
ened away  by  the  extremism  of  the  Turkestan  Soviets,  the 
center  of  gravity  of  the  revolution  was  shifting  to  the 
peasant  masses  who  had  nothing  to  lose  but  their  poverty. 
Concurrently,  the  Young  Bokharan  organization  in  Tash- 
kent was  shedding  the  last  vestiges  of  liberal  bourgeois- 
nationalism  and  adopting  the  militant,  revolutionary  pro- 
gram of  the  Bolsheviks.  There  was  a  reshuffling  of  forces. 
Many  of  the  less  fervid  revolutionists  dropped  out,  while 
the  Young  Bokharans  who  remained  were  enlisting  in  the 
Red  Army. 

However,  in  the  earlier  part  of  1919,  the  Emir  still  felt 
relatively  secure  under  England's  protecting  wings.  The 
Turkestan  Soviets,  he  knew,  were  as  yet  in  no  position  to 


114  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

help  the  Young  Bokharans  to  fight  him— to  quote  Colonel 
Etherton's  innocent  boast— "they  were  confronted  by  the 
British  in  northeast  Russia,  and  were  meeting  with  strong 
opposition  in  Semirechie  and  Fergana,  with  all  of  whom 
I  was  in  touch/'  And  at  home  the  Emir  could  not  yet  de- 
cipher the  writing  on  the  wall:  he  did  not  know  that  the 
underground  revolutionary  groupings  in  the  Khanate  were 
being  revitalized  and  that  the  Young  Bokharans  in  Tash- 
kent had  finally  succeeded  in  reestablishing  contact  with 
them. 

The  first  major  shock  the  Emir  received  was  in  June, 
1919,  when  he  learned  that  England  was  withdrawing  her 
forces  from  Transcaspia,  leaving  only  a  small  detachment 
in  Krasnovodsk.  At  first  he  refused  to  believe  it.  England 
could  not  afford  to  do  it!  She  could  not  and  would  not 
allow  Bolshevism  to  gain  a  permanent  foothold  on  the 
boundaries  of  her  Asiatic  Empire.  Bolshevism  would  be  a 
perpetual  threat  to  her  position  in  the  Orient.  Such  a  step 
would  damage  her  prestige  in  the  East  irreparably. 
England  could  not  do  such  a  thing. 

The  reason  the  Emir  was  so  stunned  by  the  news  was 
his  inadequate  grasp  of  the  world  situation.  England's 
withdrawal  from  Transcaspia  was  not  a  matter  of  con- 
science or  of  free  choice.  She  needed  her  armies  elsewhere. 
Her  position  in  India  was  in  peril.  The  Bolshevik  anti- 
imperialist  slogans  were  beginning  to  bear  fruit. 

As  early  as  February,  1919,  the  bourgeois  revolution  in 
Afghanistan,  stimulated  by  the  anti-imperialist  pronounce- 
ments of  the  Soviets,  had  developed  into  an  open  war 
against  England.  The  bourgeois  progressive  group  that 
had  come  into  power  with  Amanulla  Khan  had  dared  to 
challenge  the  British  lion.  The  Afghans,  of  course,  did 
not  rely  merely  on  their  tiny  military  forces.  They  knew 
that  back  of  them  was  the  entire  Orient  and  that  in  front 
was  an  embittered  India  straining  at  the  Imperial  chain. 
The  calculation  was  eminently  justified.  Afghanistan's 
blow  at  England  sent  a  thrill  of  joy  through  the  colonial 
and  semi-colonial  East.  Already  the  Afghan  tribes  in  the 
north-western  part  of  India  were  becoming  more  "in- 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  115 

solent"  in  their  struggle  with  the  British  troops.  Already 
one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  Indian  workers  were 
out  on  strike,  and  the  strike  was  spreading.  Already  Pun- 
jab was  in  the  throes  of  a  peasant  revolt.  In  Persia,  in  the 
Arab  East,  in  Egypt,  the  anti-British  movement  was  gain- 
ing momentum.  Under  the  terrific  pressure  of  the  surge 
for  national  emancipation  in  her  colonies  and  dependen- 
cies Great  Britain  was  straining  her  last  resources  to  hold 
out,  to  save  her  prestige. 

What  the  Emir  did  not  yet  know,  Colonel  Etherton 
(we  judge  from  his  book)  knew  only  too  well.  It  is  from 
Mr.  Etherton's  story,  indeed,  that  we  gather  the  reasons 
for  England's  retirement  from  Transcaspia.  "The  huge 
force  of  300,000  men  massed  on  and  near  the  Afghan  fron- 
tier," he  complains,  "was  unable  to  achieve  anything,  nor 
did  we  exact  the  retribution  to  which  we  were  so  justly 
entitled.  ..."  Typical  spokesman  of  imperialist  Britain, 
Colonel  Etherton  blames  everybody  but  England  for 
England's  troubles.  The  Afghan  "attack"  was  "unpro- 
voked" and  "scandalous"!  "Amanulla,"  he  confides,  "had 
for  some  time  been  coquetting  with  the  Bolsheviks;  he  saw 
in  them  a  means  to  free  himself  from  the  restriction  under 
which  the  foreign  relations  of  Afghanistan  were  controlled 
by  the  British  government. . . .  My  information  clearly 
proved  that  the  Bolsheviks  had  promised  him  assistance  in 
men,  money,  and  material. . . ."  Colonel  Etherton's  com- 
ments on  the  Afghan  War  are  classic  revelations  of  the 
imperialist  mind.  "At  the  close  of  the  Afghan  War,"  he 
wails,  "and  the  conclusion  of  a  treaty  devoid  of  compensa- 
tory advantage  to  ourselves,  or  any  punishment  for  our 
outraged  dignity,  we  were  left  in  a  parlous  condition  as 
regards  prestige  in  Central  Asia.  Immense  difficulty  was 
experienced  by  myself  and  my  colleague ...  in  counter- 
acting the  violent  Bolshevik  propaganda  which  ensued  as 
the  outcome  of  this  campaign  and  its  unfortunate  ending." 

In  1919  the  Orient  was  seething  with  revolt.  While  the 
Soviets  were  denied  contact  with  the  West,  Moscow  be- 
came the  Mecca  of  numerous  missions,  delegations  and 
individuals  from  the  oppressed  peoples  of  the  East.  And 


Il6  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

in  December,  1919,  the  People's  Commissar  for  Foreign 
Affairs  was  in  a  position  to  report  to  the  Seventh  Congress 
of  Soviets  that 

We  addressed  the  Governments  of  North  and  South 
China,  the  Mongolian  Government,  the  Persian  Gov- 
ernment and  the  revolutionary  organization  of  Korea, 
stating  our  concrete  program  and  giving  up  the  entire 
legacy  of  the  Czarist  regime  and  its  continuation  by 
the  Kerensky  government.  We  solemnly  announced 
to  the  Turkish  and  the  rest  of  the  Moslem  world  our 
desire  to  help  the  Moslem  peoples  in  their  fight  for 
their  lost  liberties. . . .  To  whatever  Eastern  country 
we  turn  our  eyes,  whether  Persia,  China,  Turkey,  or 
Egypt  we  observe  a  deep  fermentation  which  is  assum- 
ing more  and  more  of  a  movement  against  European 
and  American  capitalism.  This  movement  has  for  its 
ultimate  object  the  attainment  of  our  ideals. 

It  was  the  coincidence  of  the  national  liberation  war 
in  Afghanistan  and  the  ominous  rise  of  the  national 
liberation  movement  throughout  the  East,  especially  in 
India,  that  forced  England  to  withdraw  her  troops  from 
Transcaspia.  Her  position  and  her  prestige  in  the  Orient 
were  seriously  impaired,  her  safety  was  threatened.  She 
had  to  mass  her  soldiers  in  the  most  dangerous  spot,  on 
and  near  the  Afghan  frontier.  That  is  why  only  a  small 
detachment  was  left  in  the  city  of  Krasnovodsk,  on  the 
Transcaspian  front.  Though  the  retirement  of  the  troops 
had  not  brought  about  the  cessation  of  British  intrigue,  it 
had  marked  the  end  of  England's  military  intervention  in 
Central  Asia. 


The  Emir  is  Disconsolate 

A  pall  of  gloom  hung  now  over  the  Emir's  "Ark."  As 
1919  was  drawing  to  an  end,  the  messages  from  the  various 
anti-Soviet  fronts  were  increasingly  alarming. 

On  September  13,  the  Red  forces  of  Turkestan,  under 
the  leadership  of  Frunze,  all  but  demolished  Dutov's 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  11>] 

crack  army  by  the  Aral  Sea  railroad  station.  Dutov  was 
driven  into  Semirechie.  The  famous  "Dutov  cork"  was 
blown  into  fragments.  The  Red  Armies  of  Turkestan  at 
last  joined  forces  with  the  Red  Armies  from  the  Center. 
The  isolation  of  the  Turkestan  Soviets  was  at  an  end. 

Then  came  the  distressing  news  that  Kolchak's  armies 
were  wiped  out  in  Siberia,  Denikin's  in  South  Russia. 
Red  regiments  smashed  their  way  into  the  Caucasus. 

On  January  6,  1920,  the  Bolsheviks  began  the  new  year 
by  capturing  Krasnovodsk,  the  last  stronghold  of  the  anti- 
Soviet  forces  on  the  Transcaspian  front. 

Every  new  message  increased  the  Emir's  anxiety.  In  the 
spring  the  news  came  that  in  Semirechie,  the  Reds  had 
annihilated  Annenkov's  and  the  last  remnants  of  Dutov' s 
armies,  and  that  Annenkov  and  Dutov,  with  several  hun- 
dred officers,  had  fled  to  Chinese  Turkestan. 

The  most  crushing  news,  however,  came  from  Khiva. 
Djunaid  Khan  was  meeting  with  serious  military  reverses, 
and  was  losing  his  authority.  Many  of  the  Turkoman 
chieftains  and  their  personal  followers  were  deserting  him. 
The  Young  Khivans,  political  cousins  of  the  Emir's 
enemies  in  Bokhara,  were  coming  out  into  the  open, 
brazenly  setting  up  revolutionary  headquarters  in  all  the 
larger  cities  of  the  Khiva  Khanate.  They  were  carrying 
their  subversive  propaganda  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
Khivan  population.  They  were  winning  support  not  only 
among  the  workmen,  the  peasants,  and  the  petty  trades- 
men, but  even  among  the  clergy  and  the  more  prosperous 
classes,  all  of  whom  were  eager  to  throw  off  Djunaid's 
yoke.  The  strange  thing  was  that  those  Young  Khivans, 
though  they  styled  themselves  "Bolsheviks,"  were  not 
really  Bolsheviks.  They  were  middle  class  nationalists, 
Uzbeks,  who  were  appealing  to  the  Uzbek  masses  to  rise 
against  the  Turkoman  usurper  and  his  Turkoman  hordes. 
Why,  the  Emir  wondered,  did  they  call  themselves  Bol- 
sheviks and  popularize  the  name  among  the  masses, 
when  they  were  religious  Moslems,  when,  according  to 
reliable  reports,  the  last  meeting  of  the  Central  Commit- 


Il8  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

tee  and  the  Presidium  of  their  party  was  preceded  by 
fervent  prayers  in  the  mosque? 

Nonplused,  worried,  harried  by  a  great  dread,  the  Emir 
followed  the  cheerless  news  from  Khiva.  Finally,  the 
worst  happened.  Djunaid  Khan  was  overthrown.  He  and 
his  bands  fled  to  Persia.  The  Young  Khivans  organized  a 
revolutionary  government.  The  Bolsheviks  organized  a 
branch  of  the  Bolshevik  party.  The  Khivan  government 
was  under  the  direct  influence  of  the  Bolsheviks 

The  fiery  ring  of  revolution  around  Bokhara  was  tight- 
ening. In  a  last,  despairing  spurt  of  energy,  the  Emir  re- 
solved to  give  battle.  He  started  to  swell  still  further  his 
already  burdensome  and  untrustworthy  army  by  hysteri- 
cally ordering  four  mobilizations  within  a  short  time.  He 
increased  the  taxes,  purchased  ammunition,  and  agitated 
for  a  holy  war.  He  financed  the  counter-revolutionary 
guerrilla  bands  in  Fergana  and,  needless  to  say,  repressed 
the  slightest  sign  of  disaffection. 

Above  all  the  Emir  now  tried  very  assiduously  to 
strike  up  a  friendship  with  the  new  Afghan  ruler— Ama- 
nulla  Khan.  Embassies  were  exchanged.  Assurances  of  eter- 
nal friendship  and  rich  gifts  were  showered  on  both 
sides,  Amanulla  presenting  the  Bokhara  Emir  with  several 
cannon  and  four  or  five  war  elephants. 

It  was  suggested  that  in  flirting  with  Alim  Khan,  Ama- 
nulla cherished  the  hope  of  ultimately  uniting  all  the 
Moslem  peoples  under  the  holy  banner  of  Pan-Islamism 
carried  by  a  mighty  Afghanistan.  Whether  or  not  Ama- 
nulla really  entertained  such  grandiose  hopes  is  difficult 
to  determine.  What  he  undoubtedly  dreamt  of  was  ter- 
ritorial expansion  in  the  direction  of  Eastern  Bokhara, 
now  Tadjikistan.  The  victories  of  his  armies  over  England 
had  gone  to  Amanulla's  head,  and  he  thought  that  the 
hour  for  creating  a  greater  Afghanistan  had  struck. 

However,  Amanulla's  policies  were  cautious.  While  en- 
couraging the  Emir's  overtures,  he  at  the  same  time  took 
pains  not  to  antagonize  seriously  the  Soviet  Government. 
Indeed,  he  was  among  the  first  to  grant  official  recogni- 
tion to  the  Soviet  regime.  Obviously,  Emir  Alim  Khan 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  11Q 

could  not  rely  on  Afghanistan  too  much.  Nor  could  he 
place  any  faith  in  his  subjects,  who  were  greatly  stirred 
by  what  had  happened  in  Khiva  and  was  now  happening 
in  Soviet  Turkestan.  In  Turkestan  a  special  commission, 
consisting  of  three  very  able  Bolsheviks— Frunze,  Kuiby- 
shev and  Eliaev— sent  by  the  Central  Executive  Committee 
of  the  Russian  Socialist  Federation  of  Soviet  Republics, 
was  introducing  better  order  in  the  revolutionary  organiza- 
tions of  Turkestan,  rehabilitating  the  economy  of  the 
country,  and,  what  was  of  supreme  importance,  drawing 
into  this  work  of  reorganization  and  rehabilitation  large 
numbers  of  native  workers  and  peasants.  As  a  result  of  the 
Committee's  energetic  action,  the  government  and  Party 
organizations  in  Soviet  Turkestan  had  quickly  and  basi- 
cally changed  their  national  composition. 

The  work  of  the  Commission  in  improving  economic 
conditions  and  creating  a  genuinely  national  Soviet  Gov- 
ernment in  Turkestan  had  an  immediate  and  salutary 
effect  on  the  neighboring  Khanate.  The  peasants  in  Bo- 
khara were  growing  more  and  more  impatient  with  the 
despotic  regime  of  the  Emir.  No  walls,  no  executions,  no 
floggings  could  stop  the  wave  of  enthusiasm  that  was  gener- 
ating in  Turkestan  from  spreading  in  all  directions.  Khiva, 
where  the  old  regime  was  weakest  and  where  the  popula- 
tion was  groaning  under  the  savage  Djunaid-Khan,  had 
felt  the  impact  first.  Now  it  began  to  be  felt  in  Bokhara. 
Affected  by  events  in  Turkestan  and  Khiva  the  masses  in 
Bokhara  became  even  more  susceptible  to  revolutionary 
propaganda.  The  anti-Emir  movement  was  growing.  By 
August,  1920,  conditions  were  ripe  for  a  second  revolu- 
tionary advance  against  the  Emirate. 

The  Bokharan  refugees  in  Tashkent  and  the  Turkestan 
Central  Bureau  of  the  Young  Bokharan  organization 
launched  a  furious  propaganda  campaign  among  the  peas- 
ants and  the  Emir's  army. 

"Fellow  countrymen,"  they  wrote,  "be  not  afraid,  jus- 
tice and  power  is  on  your  side. . . .  Bloody  Nicholas  is  no 
more.  The  Czarist  friends  of  the  Emir  who  might  have 
taken  sides  with  him  and  sent  the  Russian  army  against 


120  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

you  have  long  since  been  hurled  out  of  Russia.  There  is 
now  only  the  Workers*  and  Peasants*  Red  Army  which  is 
wholly  on  our  side,  and  which  is  always  ready  to  come  to 

our  aid Long  live  the  union  of  the  liberty  loving 

Russian  Red  fighters  and  the  revolutionary  army  of  Bo- 
khara!" 

The  Emir  finally  realized  that  he  could  not  stem  the 
revolutionary  tide,  that  the  day  of  judgment  was  inex- 
orably drawing  closer.  He  hastened  to  make  secret  prepara- 
rations  to  save  the  vast  treasures  amassed  by  himself  and 
his  predecessors,  which  lay  in  the  vaults  of  the  palace. 
"To  secure  the  safety  of  his  wealth,"  reports  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Etherton,  "he  offered  to  confide  it  to  our  care, 
and  requested  us  to  take  charge  of  it  pending  the  dawn 
of  brighter  days  and  a  return  to  normal  conditions."  The 
Emir  offered  to  relieve  the  British  agent  of  all  responsi- 
bility during  transport.  All  he  wanted  for  his  thirty-five 
million  pounds  sterling  in  gold  and  silver  coins  and  ingots 
was  a  "receipt  for  the  sum  in  question."  Though  greatly 
touched  by  this  "remarkable  offer"  and  by  this  beautiful 
demonstration  of  "how  high  our  credit  stood  even  in 
remote  Bokhara,"  Colonel  Etherton,  because  of  the  "iso- 
lated nature  of  Bokhara,"  and  the  "warring  elements" 
that  surrounded  it,  was  unfortunately  unable  to  take  cus- 
tody of  the  treasure.  "Certainly,  so  far  as  Kashgar  was 
concerned,"  he  explains,  "I  could  not  have  accommodated 
so  large  an  amount  in  my  treasury  without  special  ar- 
rangements, and  moreover,  the  difficulties  of  getting  there 
would  have  been  insuperable." 

Poor  Alim-Khan  was  left  trembling  over  his  gold,  while 
the  Young  Bokharans  were  preparing  for  the  revolution. 

On  August  18  a  congress  of  the  Young  Bokharan  Com- 
munists met  in  Chardjui.  The  selection  of  Chardjui  was 
not  accidental.  Chardjui  was  an  important  station  with 
a  considerable  number  of  revolutionary  railway  workers; 
also  the  peasant  population  in  the  Chardjui  region  was 
the  poorest  and  most  exploited  in  Bokhara.  Finally,  the 
majority  of  the  population  was  Turkoman,  inimical  to 
the  Bokhara  Emir  and  his  preponderantly  Uzbek  officials. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  121 

The  Congress  at  Chardjui  decided  upon  an  armed  upris- 
ing. Propagandists  and  organizers  were  thrown  into  the 
districts.  On  August  2  grd,  the  Sakor-Bazar  revolutionary 
organization  seized  that  city.  On  August  3Oth,  the  ap- 
pointed day,  the  armed  peasantry  supported  by  armed  con- 
tingents of  the  Young  Bokharans  and  the  Russian  railway 
workers  at  Chardjui  occupied  the  city  encountering  no 
resistance  and  shedding  not  a  drop  of  blood.  Simul- 
taneously, Kermin,  Shakhriziab,  and  a  number  of  other 
cities  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  revolutionists.  Immediately 
a  proclamation  was  issued  to  the  people  of  the  Bokhara 
Khanate  stating  the  aims  of  the  revolution. 

All  the  lands,  wells  and  irrigation  canals  were  declared 
to  be  the  property  of  the  people  of  Bokhara.  The  real  and 
personal  property  of  the  Emir's  officials,  of  the  reactionary 
sections  of  the  clergy,  and  of  all  active  counter-revolution- 
ists was  pronounced  subject  to  immediate  confiscation  by 
the  state.  A  congress  of  the  people's  representatives  was 
promised  which  congress  would  directly  proceed  to  carry 
out  the  task  of  land  and  water  reforms  and  of  taking  over 
all  enterprises  for  the  benefit  of  the  state.  Also  an  appeal 
was  addressed  to  the  government,  proletariat,  and  the  Red 
Army  of  Russia,  wherein  the  Young  Bokharans,  speaking 
in  the  name  of  the  workers  and  peasants  of  Bokhara, 
asked  that  the  comrades  of  the  Russian  Soviet  Republic 
help  them  in  the  struggle  against  the  armed  forces  of  the 
Emir. 

The  appeal  was,  of  course,  calculated  to  appease  the 
nationalist  elements  in  Bokhara  by  removing  the  sus- 
picion of  a  Russian  invasion.  Naturally,  too,  the  response 
to  the  appeal  was  immediate.  In  his  order  to  the  Red 
Armies  on  the  Turkestan  front,  Frunze  wrote:  "In  various 
places  in  Bokhara  there  have  broken  out  revolutionary  up- 
risings. The  hour  has  struck  for  the  final  struggle  of  the 
oppressed  and  enslaved  toiling  masses  of  Bokhara  against 
the  bloodthirsty  government  of  the  Emir  and  his  Beks. 
The  regiments  of  the  newly-born  Red  Army  of  Bokhara 
are  advancing  to  help  their  people.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
Red  regiment  of  worker  and  peasant  Russia  to  take  its 


122  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

place  by  their  side.  I  order  all  our  armed  forces  to  go  to 
the  aid  of  the  people  of  Bokhara  in  their  hour  of  need. 
. . .  Red  Army  men,  fighters,  commissars,  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  of  the  Soviet  Union  are  turned  toward  you  in  the 
faith  that  each  and  every  one  of  you  will  fulfill  his  revolu- 
tionary duty.  Forward,  to  battle  for  the  interests  of  the 
toilers  of  Bokhara  and  Russia.  Long  live  the  awakened 
people  of  Bokhara.  Long  live  the  emerging  Soviet  Repub- 
lic of  Bokhara!" 


Under  the  Walls  of  Bokhara 
(From  the  Memoirs  of  G.  Omeliusty.) 

It  was  the  thirtieth  of  August,  towards  evening.  The 
streets  of  New  Bokhara,  swathed  in  darkness,  were  quiet, 
deserted.  Only  now  and  then  a  rider  would  gallop  by,  a 
Red  patrol  would  pass  with  measured  step.  From  the  city's 
outskirts  one  could  hear  the  cries  of  the  Emir's  guards. 

Nothing  seemed  to  disturb  the  usual  martial-law 
atmosphere  of  the  period— the  outer  tranquillity,  the  inner 
tension. 

Nothing  seemed  to  betray  the  excitement  behind  the 
curtain-drawn  windows,  where  the  Party  Committee  and 
the  Military  Staff  were  in  session.  Yet  the  excitement  was 
great— news  had  just  arrived  of  uprisings  in  Chardjui  and 
Karshi.  The  insurgents  seized  Old  Chardjui.  In  Karshi  the 
battle  was  still  raging.  The  revolutionary  detachments 
were  supported  by  the  city  poor.  The  henchmen  of  the 
doomed  regime  were  offering  furious  resistance. . . . 

The  situation  was  crucial,  dangerous.  It  called  for  de- 
cisive steps.  The  uprisings  must  get  vigorous  support.  The 
fate  of  the  Bokharan  revolution  was  at  stake.  Success  in 
Chardjui  and  Karshi  was  not  enough.  The  enemy  had  to 
be  struck  in  the  very  heart. 

Harsh  conditions  of  revolutionary  struggle  and  under- 
ground work  had  forged  bold,  resolute  characters,  had 
taught  them  to  make  decisions  on  the  spot  and  act  in- 
stantly. It  took  no  more  than  one  hour  to  call  together 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER 

all  the  organizations  and  Worker  Red  Guards  from  the 
surrounding  settlements.  Fighting  detachments  were  or- 
ganized forthwith.  Those  who  had  no  arms  were  armed- 
rifles,  cartridges,  etc.  A  proclamation  was  issued,  calling  on 
the  labor  population  of  Bokhara  to  support  the  insurgents. 
Another  proclamation  to  the  Red  Army,  urging  its  aid 
to  overthrow  the  Emir  and  establish  the  Soviet  Power. 

The  plan  of  action  was  simple.  The  revolutionary  de- 
tachments to  advance  toward  Old  Bokhara  in  two  col- 
umns—one along  the  highway  from  Kogan,  the  other 
from  the  railway  through  the  Karakul  Gates.  On  the  way 
the  detachments  must  draw  in  the  rising  population  in 
the  villages.  The  Red  Army  contingents  to  be  in  back. 
Object— to  take  Bokhara.  Military  activities  to  begin  at 
dawn— four  o'clock  sharp.  Meanwhile,  a  concentration  of 
forces  in  all  strategic  points.  Absolute  secrecy.  The  enemy 
must  not  be  warned.  Strong  patrols  at  all  city  exits.  Signal 
for  action— the  firing  of  a  cannon. 

At  four  o'clock,  to  the  minute,  the  first  cannon  shot 
burst  forth  and  reverberated  through  the  clear  morning 
air.  The  Bokharan  revolution  announced  its  arrival. 

Cutting  the  air  with  a  whiz,  the  missile  shot  up,  flew 
over  the  city,  descended,  and  struck  the  clay  wall  of  the 
yard  where  the  Emir's  cavalry  was  stationed.  Immediately, 
at  the  northern  end  of  the  city,  on  both  sides  of  the  high- 
way, a  battery  of  machine  guns  burst  out,  followed  by  the 
crackling  of  rifles.  The  Red  detachments  went  forth  to 
storm  the  stronghold  of  savage  tyranny. 

The  attack  was  launched  abruptly  and  conducted 
fiercely.  The  Emir's  hirelings  could  not  withstand  the 
shock,  and,  abandoning  their  provision  trains,  shedding 
their  guns  and  cartridges,  started  a  hasty  and  disorderly 
retreat  into  Old  Bokhara. 

Several  cannons,  boxes  of  ammunition,  wagons,  a  few 
captives,  rifles,  cartridges  were  our  first  spoils. 

The  twelve  kilometers  between  the  Old  and  the  New 
Bokhara  were  covered  in  no  time.  By  noon  our  contin- 
gents were  fighting  in  the  suburbs  nearest  to  the  city. 


124  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

At  a  distance  loomed  the  embrasured  city  walls.  They 
had  been  there  for  six  centuries,  rising  seventy  feet  above 
the  ground  and  so  thick  that  wagons  could  travel  on  top 
of  them.  Our  cannon  balls  made  only  slight  impressions 
on  them.  It  was  difficult  to  take  those  walls.  They  offered 
firm  protection  to  the  enemy.  Yet  they  had  to  be  taken 
at  any  price.  Final  victory  could  be  won  only  within  those 
walls. 

The  enemy  understood  it,  and  it  was  behind  those  walls 
that  he  was  preparing  to  put  up  the  real  fight.  The  walls 
of  the  city,  the  adjacent  cemeteries,  the  houses,  the  streets, 
everything  was  adapted  for  defense. 

The  Russian  White  Guards,  the  Emir's  officials,  the 
beys,  the  bourgeoisie,  all  were  mobilized  for  the  counter- 
attack. 

Clutching  Korans  in  their  hands,  tearing  their  clothes, 
issuing  frenzied  cries,  the  mullahs  incited  the  city  mob. 
"Death  to  the  Djadids,"  came  from  behind  the  walls. 
"Long  Live  the  Revolution,"  came  the  answer  from  our 
side. 

A  desperate  battle  developed  at  the  very  walls  of  the 
city.  Both  sides  fought  tenaciously.  The  cemetery  changed 
hands  several  times;  several  times  the  Red  warriors  came 
up  to  the  very  walls,  but,  sprayed  with  a  shower  of  bullets 
and  rocks,  they  were  forced  to  retreat  with  considerable 
losses.  Several  times  they  vainly  hurled  themselves  at  the 
walls.  Now  and  then  the  city  gates  were  flung  open  and 
the  infuriated  mobs,  exhorted  by  mullahs  and  officials, 
supported  by  a  steady  fire  from  the  walls,  yelling  "Allah," 
advanced  against  our  machine  guns,  throwing  themselves 
at  our  gunners  with  bare  hands. 

Utilizing  their  numerous  cavalry,  the  Emir  and  his  gen- 
erals, by  sudden  attacks  against  our  flanks,  tried  to  upset 
our  battle  array  at  the  city  walls. 

Twice  our  left  column  penetrated  the  Karakul  Gates 
into  the  old  city,  but,  met  by  superior  forces,  pelted  with 
grenades  in  the  narrow  streets,  it  had  to  withdraw,  leaving 
many  dead  behind. 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  125 

Neither  that  night  nor  the  following  day  did  the  battle 
abate  even  for  one  moment.  Flames,  the  roar  of  artillery, 
the  clatter  of  machine  guns,  yells,  curses,  cries,  all  mingled 
together  in  the  weird  night. 

The  ranks  of  our  fighters  were  thinning.  In  that  struggle 
many  a  comrade  gave  his  blood  or  his  life  for  the  cause 
of  the  Revolution.  Our  ammunition  was  almost  used  up, 
yet  the  citadel  of  counter-revolution  was  holding  out.  The 
fury  of  desperation  added  strength  to  the  enemy. 

Then  came  the  third  day.  The  fighting,  somewhat 
abated  during  the  night,  broke  out  with  even  greater  vio- 
lence and  seethed  along  the  whole  line.  One  thought  bored 
through  the  consciousness  of  all  of  us— the  thought  of  the 
crucial  importance  of  that  day.  If  we  did  not  hold  out,  if 
we  retreated  from  the  walls,  the  question  of  the  Bokharan 
revolution  would  be  postponed  for  many  years,  and  the 
uprising  would  be  ruthlessly  quelled. 

We  made  a  last  attempt.  Everything  that  could  in  some 
way  injure  the  enemy  was  thrown  into  this  attack.  At  the 
price  of  the  lives  of  our  bravest  comrades  we  managed  to 
make  a  breach  in  the  city  walls.  They  dragged  the  cannons 
right  to  the  very  walls  and  shot  into  them. 

With  shouts  of  triumph  the  first  two  groups  of  dare- 
devils dashed  into  the  city.  They  were  soon  followed  by 
the  others.  Street  fighting  started,  and  it  was  bloodier  than 
the  fighting  outside  the  walls.  Under  a  shower  of  bullets, 
hand  grenades,  under  streams  of  boiling  water  from  the 
roofs  and  the  windows,  enveloped  in  flame,  the  revolu- 
tionary Bokhara  detachments,  the  Red  guards,  and  the 
Red  Army  were  pushing  ahead.  The  narrow,  crooked 
streets,  the  thick  clay  walls  offered  obstacles  at  every  step. 
We  had  to  fight  for  each  house,  for  each  square.  The 
neighborhood  of  the  Emir's  "Ark"  was  all  in  flames. 

However,  the  crucial  moment  was  over.  As  we  advanced, 
the  enemy's  resistance  began  to  weaken,  and  at  the  "Ark" 
if  was  finally  broken.  Here  our  two  columns  met.  A  few 
more  sporadic  clashes,  a  few  more  victims,  and  the  Red 
detachments  reached  the  northern  part  of  the  city.  The 


126  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

smashed  remnants  of  the  Bokharan  counter-revolution 
were  scattering  in  all  directions.  The  Emir  and  his  little 
group  of  henchmen  fled.  To  the  history  of  the  proletarian 
revolution  another  victorious  page  was  added. 


Epilogue  and  Prologue 

Colonel  Etherton,  who  obtained  interesting  information 
about  the  Emir's  last  days  in  Bokhara  from  one  of  the 
Emir's  ministers  who  had  visited  him  in  Kashgar,  tells 
us  that  the  revolutionists'  attack  on  Bokhara  "was  so  well 
planned  that  the  Emir  only  escaped  by  the  merest  good 
luck.  He  left  the  palace  disguised  as  a  carter  and  actually 
passed  through  the  city  gates  whilst  the  insurgents  were 
searching  the  palace  for  him." 

The  same  source  provides  us  with  another  very  illumi- 
nating and  characteristic  detail: 

"From  Hissar  the  Emir  dispatched  a  mission  to  Kash- 
gar, headed  by  one  of  the  ministers  who  had  escaped  with 
him,  conveying  letters  to  the  King-Emperor,  the  Viceroy 
of  India,  and  myself.  In  them  the  Emir  recounted  his 
overthrow  by  the  Bolsheviks  and  subsequent  plight,  and 
begged  that  his  state,  which  he  placed  unconditionally  at 
our  disposal,  might  be  incorporated  within  the  British 
Empire." 

Pleased  by  this  fine  "tribute  to  British  integrity  and 
power,"  Colonel  Etherton,  nevertheless,  had  to  decline, 
because  "there  could,  of  course,  be  no  question  of  further 
extension  of  territory  on  our  part." 

On  the  very  day  the  Emir  fled,  a  Revolutionary  Com- 
mittee and  a  Soviet  of  People's  Commissars  had  been  or- 
ganized in  Bokhara.  As  the  names  indicate,  almost  the 
entire  government  was  made  up  of  natives:  Abdusaidov, 
Aminov,  Akchurin,  Arifov,  Yusupov,  Imburkhanov, 
Khodzhi-Khasan  Ibrahimov,  Faizulla  Khodzhaiev,  Kul 
Mukhamedov,  Pulatov,  Abdul  Mukhidinov,  Mukhtar 
Saidzhanov,  Ussman  Khodzhaiev,  Khusainov,  Burkhanov, 
Shegabutdinov.  Shortly  after,  a  Congress  of  representatives 


STRUGGLE    FOR    POWER  127 

of  the  peoples  of  Bokhara  met  and  declared  Bokhara  a 
People's  Soviet  Republic.  And  six  months  later,  on  March 
4,  1921,  the  new  Soviet  Republic  of  Bokhara  (BSR)  en- 
tered into  a  series  of  military,  political  and  economic 
agreements  with  the  Russian  Socialist  Federation  of  Soviet 
Republics  (RSFSR-there  was  no  USSR  then;  the  Union 
of  Socialist  Soviet  Republics  was  formed  in  December, 
1922)  according  to  which  the  RSFSR,,  guided  by  the  prin- 
ciple of  self-determination  of  peoples,  renounced  "the 
colonial  policy  of  the  former  capitalist  governments  of 
Russia  for  which  the  laboring  masses  of  Bokhara,  like 
other  nations  of  the  East,  have  always  been  an  object  of  ex- 
ploitation" and  recognized,  "without  reservation,  the  self- 
government  and  complete  independence  of  the  Bokharan 
Soviet  Republic,  with  all  the  consequences  deriving  there- 
from." . . .  One  of  the  consequences  was,  of  course,  the  un- 
conditional right  of  Bokhara  not  to  join  the  RSFSR,  or 
to  secede  from  it  after  it  had  joined.  Soviet  Bokhara  chose 
not  to  join. 

However,  to  quote  the  preamble  to  the  agreement: 

Deriving  from  the  profound  consciousness  that,  not 
only  can  there  be  no  conflict  of  interests  among  the 
toiling  masses  of  all  countries,  but  also  that  the  better- 
ment of  the  workers'  existence  is  rendered  possible 
solely  by  their  struggles  in  common  and  uniting  their 
forces  against  the  imperialist  bourgeoisie  of  the  world; 
deriving  also  from  the  necessity  of  elaborating  com- 
mon plans  in  the  struggle  for  independence  and  for 
the  coordination  of  forces,  as  well  as  of  introducing 
uniformity  into  their  preparation;  and,  furthermore, 
from  the  conviction  that  the  working  masses,  after 
having  eliminated  any  possibility  of  exploiting  each 
other,  are  interested  in  the  strengthening  of  the  pro- 
ductive forces;  and  believing,  finally,  that  only  a  close 
union  of  the  toilers  of  the  East  and  West  will  secure 
for  them  victory  and  that  all  Soviet  Republics  must 
proceed  along  the  road  of  fraternal  union— the  RSFSR 
and  BSR  have  decided  to  conclude  this  treaty  of 
alliance.  . 


128  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

In  conformity  with  the  sentiments  expressed  in  the 
preamble,  the  two  republics,  in  addition  to  settling  all 
questions  of  boundaries,  mutual  military  aid  in  defense 
'  'against  the  unceasing  attacks  of  the  world  bourgeoisie 
and  its  agents,"  and  the  coordination  of  their  economic 
and  commercial  policies  and  plans,  agreed,  in  true  fra- 
ternal spirit,  that  "the  RSFSR  shall  lend  its  assistance  to 
the  BSR  for  the  establishment  and  development  of  its 
industrial  and  other  economic  enterprises  by  putting  at 
the  disposal  of  the  latter  all  necessary  materials,  imple- 
ments of  production,  and  the  like  ..."  also  "the  necessary 
contingents  of  engineers,  technicians,  hydro-technicians, 
and  other  experts  for  prospecting  as  well  as  for  organizing 
mining  and  manufacturing  industries  of  the  BSR  and 
for  irrigation  works ..."  also  "instructors,  including  mili- 
tary instructors  with  a  knowledge  of  the  native  languages, 
teachers,  school-manuals,  literature,  material  for  equip- 
ment of  printing  offices,  etc."  Furthermore,  "in  order  to 
give  the  BSR  immediate  assistance  in  respect  to  current 
necessities,  the  RSFSR  lends  to  the  BSR  an  unredeemable 
subsidy,"  that  is,  a  subsidy  which  will  not  have  to  be 
repaid. 

Such  was  the  spirit  of  the  agreement— a  complete  re- 
versal of  the  imperialist  policies  of  the  Czar.  Instead  of 
keeping  subject  Bokhara  industrially  backward,  the  revo- 
lutionary government  of  Russia  was  eager  to  help  the 
newly  liberated  republic,  now  not  as  a  subject  but  as  an 
ally,  to  develop  its  national  economy  and  productive 
forces;  instead  of  keeping  the  Bokharan  masses  in  igno- 
rance, the  government  of  the  victorious  revolutionary 
proletariat  of  the  more  advanced  Soviet  Republic  offered 
instructors,  teachers,  textbooks,  literature,  printing  presses; 
instead  of  exploiting  the  Bokharan  masses,  the  RSFSR 
offered  them  "unredeemable  subsidies"  so  that  they  might 
develop  their  industries  and  yet  be  spared  the  necessity  of 
going  through  the  stage  of  capitalism. 


VIII 
RECEDING  VERSUS  EMERGENT 

. . .  /  glory  in  the  great  hour 
When  the  triumphant  storm 
Crashed  down  upon  the  foe. 
It  smashed  our  yokes, 
And  freed  the  slaves  to  swarm 
As  clouds  upon  their  nest, 
And  raised  the  flag  of  battle. . . . 
I  glory  in  that  day  supreme— 
The  Beginning  of  October. . . . 

0  land  of  mine  . . . 

1  stand  your  daylong  watch. 

— ALI  ROKEMBAYEV,  Kirghiz  poet. 


Revolution  in  a  Quandary 

THE  overthrow  of  the  Emir  was  only  one  of  the  more 
spectacular  episodes  in  the  fierce  social  drama  that  has 
been  unfolding  in  Central  Asia  during  the  last  eighteen 
years.  The  revolutionary  explosion,  by  removing  the  Emir, 
removed  the  lid  that  had  pressed  down  and  held  together 
a  population  perpetually  seething  with  national  and  class 
antagonisms.  The  result  was  a  period  of  turmoil  and  vio- 
lent readjustment,  the  echoes  of  which  still  reverberate 
through  the  distant  hills  and  valleys  of  Eastern  Bokhara 
(now  Tadjikistan). 

The  fundamental  problem  facing  the  new  Government 
was  that  of  direction.  Whither  was  the  revolution  to  go? 
The  local  Bolsheviks  were  themselves  not  clear  as  to  the 
basic  theories  of  Communism  or  the  specific  character  of 
the  Bokharan  revolution.  Yet  without  a  clear  theoretical 
line,  there  could  be  no  effective  action.  The  antiquated 
social  structure  had  collapsed.  The  debris  had  to  be  cleared 
away:  some  of  it  destroyed,  but  more  saved  for  the  new 

129 


130  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

edifice.  It  was  a  matter  of  proper, selection.  But  no  selec- 
tion was  possible  before  the  builders  had  an  approximate 
notion  of  what  they  wanted  to  build.  A  plan,  however 
tentative,  was  needed.  Yet  no  plan  could  be  suggested 
without  first  having  the  question  as  to  the  proletarian  or 
bourgeois  nature  of  the  Bokharan  revolution  adequately 
answered. 

To  many  the  whole  question  seemed  rather  baffling: 
How  could  one  attach  a  proletarian  or  bourgeois  label 
to  a  revolution  which  had  in  back  of  it  neither  a  pro- 
letariat nor  a  bourgeoisie?  Under  the  Emir,  capitalism 
in  Bokhara  had  been  in  its  earliest  infancy.  The  rela- 
tively recent  introduction  of  Russian  finance  capital  had 
not  fundamentally  changed  the  ancient  social  structure. 
Bokhara  was  essentially  a  feudal,  peasant  land,  and  the 
revolution  was  primarily  the  uprising  of  the  village  masses 
against  the  socially  and  economically  undifferentiated 
upper  class— the  richest  landlords,  the  richest  mullahs, 
the  richest  merchants  and  bankers  and  state  functionaries. 
What  sense  was  there  in  speaking  of  a  bourgeois  revolu- 
tion without  a  real  bourgeoisie  or  a  proletarian  revolu- 
tion without  a  real  proletariat?  Furthermore,  the  Russian 
Bolsheviks  often  pressed  the  adjective  socialist  as  the  cor- 
rect term  to  apply  to  the  Revolution.  To  many  of  the 
skeptics,  however,  that  too  did  not  seem  satisfactory.  Like 
the  Mensheviks,  like  the  members  of  the  Second  Interna- 
tional, like  our  own  American  Socialists,  these  Bokharans 
tended  to  deny  the  socialist  character  of  the  revolution 
even  in  Russia,  let  alone  in  Bokhara.  The  socialist  order, 
maintained  those  of  them  who  had  a  smattering  of  Marx, 
could  not  be  established  in  a  country  of  backward  indus- 
trial development.  The  few  scholiasts  never  wearied  of 
citing  the  famous  sentence  from  Marx's  Introduction  to 
the  Critique  of  Political  Economy:  "No  social  order  ever 
disappears  before  all  the  productive  forces  for  which  there 
is  room  in  it  have  been  developed;  and  new  higher  rela- 
tions of  production  never  appeared  before  the  material 
conditions  of  their  existence  have  matured  in  the  womb 
of  the  old  society."  Even  Czarist  Russia,  despite  several 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER 

decades  of  capitalism,  had  not  developed  all  its  potential 
productive  forces  to  a  stage  even  remotely  approximating 
maturity,  so  what  point  was  there  in  expecting  semi-feudal 
Bokhara  to  skip  the  stage  of  capitalist  development  and  to 
plunge  into  a  drive  for  new,  higher,  socialist  relations  of 
production?  Any  attempt  to  give  the  revolution  in 
backward  Bokhara  and  even  in  more  advanced  Russia  a 
socialist  character  would  do  unpardonable  violence  to 
historically  ineluctable  economic  trends  and  would  prove 
abortive.  Needless  pain.  Needless  suffering.  Needless 
bloodshed.  You  cannot  skip  a  whole  social  and  economic 
epoch.  Why  follow  a  will-o'-the-wisp? 

The  objections  were  for  the  most  part  passionately  sin- 
cere. Few  of  the  people  who  advanced  them,  Russian  and 
native  middle-class  intellectuals,  realized  that  they  were 
rationalizing  a  profound  fear  of  being  hurled  into  the  un- 
tried, the  utterly  unknown.  They  were  not  opposed  to 
socialism  in  the  abstract,  as  a  concept.  They  flinched  when 
it  began  to  be  spoken  of  as  a  reality  for  which  one  had 
to  struggle. 

The  answer  urged  by  the  Bolsheviks  was  substantially 
as  follows:  They  granted  that  the  revolution  in  Bokhara 
was  neither  purely  proletarian  nor  purely  bourgeois,  that  it 
was  primarily  the  upsurge  of  the  poor  working  population 
of  the  villages.  In  the  words  of  Lenin:  "If  a  definite  level 
of  culture  is  necessary  for  the  establishment  of  socialism 
(although  no  one  can  say  what  this  definite  'level  of 
culture'  is),  then  why  should  it  be  impossible  for  us  to 
begin  first  of  all  by  attaining  in  a  revolutionary  way  the 
prerequisites  for  this  definite  level,  and  afterwards,  on  the 
basis  of  the  workers'  and  peasants'  power  and  the  Soviet 
system,  proceed  to  overtake  the  other  peoples?  You  say 
that  a  definite  state  of  civilization  is  required  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  socialism.  Very  well.  But  why  could  we  not 
first  of  all  create  the  prerequisites  for  such  a  state  of  civi- 
lization in  our  country  by  banishing  the  landlords  and 
capitalists  and  then  starting  our  advance  toward  socialism? 
Wherein  is  it  written  that  such  variations  in  the  usual 
historical  order  are  inadmissible  or  impossible?" 


132  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

It  was  said  that  the  capitalist  stage  of  development  was 
inevitable,  especially  in  the  case  of  the  extremely  backward 
nationalities  liberated  by  the  revolution.  The  Bolsheviks 
refused  to  accept  that.  If  the  victorious  revolutionary 
proletariat  of  the  more  advanced  countries  in  the  Soviet 
Federation  carried  on  systematic  propaganda  in  a  country 
like  Bokhara,  and  if  the  Soviet  Government  made  avail- 
able to  Bokhara  all  the  means  at  its  disposal,  it  would  be 
incorrect  to  suppose  that  the  capitalist  stage  of  develop- 
ment was  inevitable  here.  With  the  aid  of  the  proletariat 
of  the  most  advanced  Soviet  countries  and  the  leadership 
of  the  Communist  Party,  there  was  no  reason,  the  more 
mature  Bolsheviks  felt,  why  Bokhara  could  not  avoid  the 
pain  of  capitalist  exploitation,  why  it  could  not  complete 
the  bourgeois  revolution,  especially  the  redistribution  of 
land,  under  the  rule  of  the  Workers'  and  Peasants'  Soviets. 

The  lack  of  theoretical  clarity  and  the  wavering  atti- 
tude of  most  of  the  local  leaders,  including  some  would-be 
Bolsheviks,  resulted,  however,  in  numerous  mistakes,  and 
interferences  with  the  accelerated  development  of  the 
bourgeois-democratic  revolution.  Only  the  richest  mer- 
chants, mullahs,  and  ex-officials  of  the  Emir  were  not 
allowed  to  vote  or  be  candidates  in  the  elections  for  the 
first  All-Bokhara  Congress  of  Soviets.  The  word  socialist 
had  not  been  incorporated  in  the  name  of  the  Republic. 
No  move  had  been  made  to  enter  the  Russian  Socialist 
Federation  of  Soviet  Republics.  Except  for  the  confisca- 
tion of  the  property  of  the  Emir  and  his  highest  officials 
and  the  abolition  of  the  old  taxes,  little  had  been  done 
of  a  revolutionary  nature  to  stir  the  imagination  or  better 
the  lot  of  the  working  masses.  The  one  major  thing  at- 
tempted was  the  formation  of  a  state  monopoly  for  the 
buying  and  selling  of  agricultural  products  and  improv- 
ing the  exchange  of  commodities  with  Soviet  Russia.  Also 
half-hearted  efforts  were  made  to  break  up  the  old  ad- 
ministrative machine  of  the  Emirate  and  to  replace  it  by 
central  and  local  revolutionary  committees  comprising 
government  appointees,  some  members  of  the  Communist 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  Igg 

Party,  and  elected  representatives  of  the  people.  Most  of 
the  attempts  had  proved  futile. 

Bolshevik  ideology  demanded  unqualified  orientation 
toward  the  poorest  elements  in  the  village  and  the  city. 
Had  those  been  encouraged  to  enter  the  Soviets,  the 
Soviets  would  have  soon  become  genuine  revolutionary 
organs,  effectively  guiding  the  revolution  in  a  socialist 
direction.  An  ideologically  clear,  thoroughly  welded  and 
disciplined  Bolshevik  organization,  even  though  small 
numerically,  might  have  accomplished  much  despite  the 
difficulties  which  alienation  of  the  petty-bourgeoisie  would 
have  inevitably  entailed.  Revolutionary  daring  was  needed, 
bold  policy,  measures  that  would  activize  the  city  workers, 
the  handicraftsmen,  and  the  poor  and  middle  peasants  and 
draw  them  closely  around  the  Party  and  the  Soviets.  A 
sweeping  agrarian  revolution,  the  nationalization  of  all 
lands  and  their  transfer  to  the  impoverished  peasants— 
that  was  what  the  masses  craved,  only  such  an  act  would 
have  elicited  enthusiastic  support  from  the  ruined  peas- 
antry. But  the  complex  nature  of  the  revolution  and  the 
lack  of  Bolshevik  training  among  the  local  leaders  pre- 
cluded such  a  course;  hence,  excessive  caution  and  ceaseless 
vacillation.  Even  the  moderate  program  adopted  at  the  out- 
set remained  a  paper  program.  Characteristically,  the  Con- 
stitution of  Soviet  Bokhara,  ratified  as  late  as  August  18, 
1922,  guaranteed  all  citizens  "the  right  freely  to  dispose 
of  their  movable  and  immovable  property."  In  Soviet 
Bokhara  people  could  buy  and  sell  and  bequeath  to  others 
their  lands  and  their  other  belongings  just  as  unrestrain- 
edly as  in  any  bourgeois  country! 

The  lack  of  theoretical  clarity  accounts  also  for  the  un- 
wholesomely  swollen  ranks  of  the  local  Communist  Party 
—a  membership  of  14,000  within  a  few  weeks  after  the  fall 
of  the  Emir.  True,  in  the  1922  purge  the  membership  was 
rapidly  reduced  from  10,000  to  6,000,  then  to  3,000,  and 
finally  to  1,000!  But  even  that  scarcely  improved  matters. 

The  situation  was  tragically  aggravated  by  the  fact  that 
Soviet  Bokhara  possessed  neither  the  trained  executives 
nor  the  experienced  organizers  for  the  colossal  tasks  con- 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

fronting  the  Government.  The  native  progressive  intelli- 
gentsia, scant  at  best,  had  been  largely  destroyed  by  the 
Emir  or  decimated  by  the  exigencies  of  war  and  revolu- 
tion. Among  those  who  survived,  not  many  were  ready 
to  work  with  the  revolutionary  government.  Few  adminis- 
trators could  be  drawn  from  the  illiterate  masses.  Ad- 
ministrators are  not  trained  over  night.  Willy-nilly, 
members  of  the  new  administration,  whether  appointed 
or  elected,  were  often  drawn  from  the  old  bureaucracy- 
venal,  corrupt  politicians  bitterly  opposed  to  the  revolution 
and  its  purposes.  Abuse,  sabotage,  treason,  provocation  and 
deliberate  distortion  of  Party  policies  were  the  usual  thing. 
Styling  themselves  "revolutionary,"  these  vestiges  of  the 
Emir's  bureaucratic  machine  were  always  guarding  the 
interests  of  the  exploiting  groups.  The  presence  of  such 
elements  in  the  ranks  of  the  Party  precluded  concentrated 
effort  or  unified  policy.  Even  among  the  leaders  there  were 
fundamental  disagreements  and  serious  "left"  and  "right" 
deviations.  On  the  left,  particularly  among  the  local  Rus- 
sian Communists,  there  was  an  effort  to  propagate,  with- 
out a  proper  evaluation  of  immediate  conditions,  the 
emergency  measures  of  Russia's  war-time  communism: 
forced  contribution  of  food,  prohibition  of  all  private 
trading,  closing  of  bazaars  (which  measure  was  bound  to 
hurt  not  only  the  antagonistic  commercial  bourgeoisie  but 
the  potentially  friendly  middle  peasants  as  well),  conscrip- 
tion of  labor  and  mobilization  in  the  Red  Army.  On  the 
right,  there  were  tendencies  toward  bourgeois  nationalism, 
local  chauvinism,  pan-Islamism.  Even  revolutionary  lead- 
ers—Muhamed  Khodzhaiev,  Usman  Khodzhaiev,  Arefov, 
and  many  others— were  subsequently  discovered  to  have 
been  traitors  working  hand  in  hand  with  the  beys,  the 
mullahs  and  the  forces  of  reaction. 

The  worker  and  peasant  masses  were  becoming  disil- 
lusioned. Popular  disaffection  was  growing.  The  Basmach 
movement  was  gathering  momentum.  Counter-revolution 
was  raising  its  head.  Destruction,  arson  and  murder  held 
the  country  in  their  grip. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  135 

The  Thief  and  the  Unique  Rose 

By  the  time  the  revolutionary  tide  reached  Bokhara, 
Basmachism  in  Turkestan— now  an  autonomous  republic 
in  the  RSFSR— had  begun  to  disintegrate.  The  removal  of 
"Dutov's  cork,"  the  triumph  of  the  Red  Armies  on  all 
fronts,  the  improved  revolutionary  technique  of  the  Tur- 
kestan Bolsheviks,  as  well  as  the  general  trend  toward  eco- 
nomic recovery  after  the  introduction  of  the  New 
Economic  Policy  (NEP),  had  their  effect.  The  middle 
peasantry,  numerically  the  most  potent  factor  in  the 
Basmach  movement,  began  to  desert  the  ranks  of  the 
counter-revolution.  With  the  middle  peasants'  support  in 
Turkestan  gone,  the  Basmach  leaders  began  to  cast  about 
in  search  for  new  places  of  activity. 

They  turned  their  eyes  to  Soviet  Bokhara  where  the 
weakness  of  the  new  Bokharan  government  had  caused 
a  succession  of  economic  and  political  convulsions  and 
created  an  atmosphere  favorable  to  the  dissemination  of 
Basmach  propaganda. 

To  lend  their  anti-Soviet  activities  the  appearance  of 
a  popular  revolt  and  thus  to  secure  the  support  of  the 
disillusioned  masses,  the  Basmach  leaders  proclaimed  the 
slogan  "Fight  for  our  People's  Rights."  Reactionary  to 
the  core,  they  made  every  effort  to  conceal  their  true 
nature  behind  a  smokescreen  of  high-sounding  nation- 
alist and  democratic  pronouncements.  A  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  population  accepted  their  leadership  and  fought 
for  their  slogans.  They  received  assistance  from  abroad. 
From  Afghanistan,  whither  he  had  fled  on  March  5,  1920, 
Emir  Alim  Khan  kept  on  sending  financial  help  and  stir- 
ring appeals  to  the  faithful. 

The  Basmach  movement  in  Bokhara  started  in  the 
Lokai  valley,  located  in  the  Hissar  Bekdom  and  populated 
by  semi-nomadic  Uzbek  tribes— Lokai,  Mongyt,  etc.  It  was 
here  that  the  Basmach  bands  in  Bokhara  first  took  on 
a  political  coloring,  playing  the  r61e  of  defenders  of  Mos- 
lem tradition  and  the  ancient  economic  and  social  struc- 


136  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

ture  of  their  tribes.  The  tribal  chieftains  sensed  that  their 
economic  domination,  political  power,  and  social  prestige 
were  menaced  by  the  Bolsheviks.  They  assumed  there- 
fore from  the  outset  a  position  antagonistic  to  the  new 
government,  and  used  their  tremendous  influence  among 
their  tribesmen  to  lure  them  into  joining  the  counter- 
revolution. Held  firmly  by  family,  clan,  and  tribal  ties, 
noted  throughout  Central  Asia  for  their  splendid  horse- 
manship and  military  prowess,  the  Uzbeks  of  the  Lokai 
valley  formed  the  most  powerful  Basmach  bands  and  pro- 
duced the  best  Basmach  leaders. 

The  largest  and  most  efficiently  organized  band  was 
that  of  the  notorious  chieftain  Dualet-Monbei.  Of  only 
slightly  lesser  importance  were  the  Basmach  detachments 
under  the  leadership  of  Sultan-Ishan,  especially  ferocious 
in  their  treatment  of  people  suspected  of  revolutionary 
sympathies.  Smaller  Basmach  bands  under  the  command 
of  the  brigand  Djabar  began  to  percolate  into  Western 
Bokhara  and  menaced  the  center  of  the  Republic.  The 
most  gifted  and  daring  of  all  the  Basmach  leaders  in  East- 
ern Bokhara,  indeed,  the  whole  of  Central  Asia,  was  Ibra- 
him Bek,  a  member  of  Issa-Khodza,  one  of  the  Lokai 
tribes. 

The  son  of  a  rich  kulak,  Ibrahim,  while  still  a  youth, 
had  squandered  his  father's  wealth  and  had  gone  into 
horse-stealing  as  a  means  of  replenishing  his  fortunes.  But 
horse-stealing  was  too  piddling  a  business  for  the  ambitious 
Ibrahim.  Seeking  military  glory,  he  entered  the  service  of 
the  Hinos  Bek,  where  he  soon  attained  the  rank  of  cap- 
taincy.  It  was  at  this  time,  according  to  romantic  legend, 
that  Ibrahim  fell  in  love  with  the  rich  widow  Dona  Gul, 
Unique  Rose.  But  the  Unique  One  declined  his  fervent 
suit,  saying  that  she  would  consider  him  only  if  he  became 
Bek.  Ibrahim  resolved  to  become  Bek.  The  revolution 
provided  him  with  the  great  opportunity.  Demoniacally 
ambitious,  an  extraordinarily  gifted  organizer  and  mili- 
tary leader,  he  proceeded,  as  soon  as  the  Revolution  broke 
out,  to  gather  around  himself  a  large  band  of  devoted 
and  well-armed  followers.  Within  a  short  time  his  band 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  1$7 

attracted  wide  attention.  Because  of  his  great  services  to 
the  Emir,  the  young  chieftain  of  this  valorous  band  soon 
became,  legend  tells  us,  a  candidate  for  the  high  office  of 
"Keeper  of  the  Royal  Stables."  When,  however,  the  wise 
counselors  of  the  Emir  pointed  out  that  the  appointment 
of  a  notorious  horse-thief  to  such  a  post  was  susceptible  to 
humorous  comment  and  likely  to  reflect  upon  the  dignity 
of  his  Royal  Highness  himself,  the  Emir  began  to  waver. 
Ibrahim's  tribe  resented  the  aspersion  cast  on  his  charac- 
ter. Who  had  ever  said,  they  challenged,  that  horse- 
thieving  was  prohibited  among  the  faithful  followers  of 
the  Prophet?  Recognizing  the  justice  of  their  challenge, 
the  Emir  gave  the  job  to  Ibrahim.  After  the  Emir's  de- 
parture for  Kabul,  Ibrahim's  star  continued  to  rise  and 
his  and  his  band's  fame  to  spread.  The  tribal  chieftains 
acclaimed  him  as  their  leader,  signifying  their  great  ad- 
miration by  tossing  him  (according  to  tradition)  into  the 
air  on  a  white  woolen  carpet  and  proclaiming  him  Bek. 

On  the  day  when  thousands  of  motley  horsemen,  ar- 
rayed in  colored  caftans  and  gay  turbans  and  armed  with 
every  kind  of  ancient  and  modern  weapon,  paraded  before 
him,  Ibrahim  Bek  called  for  Dona  Gul.  His  quest  was 
satisfied,  his  love  was  requited,  and  the  Unique  Rose 
brought  her  fragrance  into  Ibrahim's  growing  harem. 

Ibrahim  Bek  quickly  extended  his  authority  over  other 
Uzbek  tribes.  Under  his  banner,  heretofore  scattered  and 
disunited  Uzbek  bands  in  Lokai  and  even  in  Kuliab  con- 
solidated into  a  formidable  anti-Soviet  force. 

The  Emir,  aware  of  the  developments  in  Bokhara,  began 
to  have  happy  dreams  of  a  restoration.  He  hailed  the  rise 
of  Ibrahim  Bek,  showering  honors  and  presents  upon  him. 
Financed,  it  is  asserted,  by  the  English,  he  kept  Ibrahim 
well  supplied  with  money  and  ammunition.  Through  a 
host  of  emissaries,  Alim-Khan  conducted  an  intensive 
campaign  of  agitation  and  propaganda  against  the  Soviets. 

The  movement  spread.  District  after  district  joined  the 
Basmachi.  Remote  from  the  center,  remote  from  Tash- 
kent or  even  Bokhara  proper,  protected  by  the  absence  of 


138  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

roads,  assisted  by  the  majority  of  the  village  population, 
the  Basmachi  were  almost  impregnable. 

The  number  of  the  Basmachi  increased. 

On  the  other  hand  the  Red  Army  detachments  were 
few.  They  were  not  used  to  the  climate,  nor  familiar  with 
the  terrain.  They  were  being  killed  off  by  malaria  and 
other  local  diseases.  In  certain  sections  95  per  cent  of  the 
Red  Army  were  sick  with  malaria.  They  were  being  be- 
trayed at  each  step.  By  December,  1921,  there  were  about 
twenty  thousand  active  Basmachi.  Led  by  Ibrahim,  they 
were  sufficiently  strong  to  besiege  and  finally  take  Du- 
shambe.  The  Red  Army  was  forced  to  retreat  along  the 
Baisun-Shirobad-Termez  line. 

The  weakness  of  the  Basmach  movement  lay  in  its  inter- 
nal national  and  class  rivalries.  The  Uzbek  bands  often 
clashed  with  the  Tadjik  bands,  and  the  Turkoman  bands 
with  both.  The  Kazaks  introduced  further  complications. 
Among  the  Basmach  leaders,  too,  there  was  no  coherent 
program.  The  exponents  of  feudal  and  clerical  aspiration 
were  on  top  but  they  were  often  balked  by  the  opposi- 
tion of  the  more  liberal  bourgeois  democratic  elements. 
Though  all  of  them  were  engaged  in  the  common  struggle 
against  the  Bolsheviks,  they  nevertheless  distrusted  one 
another,  and  as  a  result  failed  to  evolve  a  united  program, 
a  solid  organization,  an  authoritative,  universally  accepted 
leadership.  Ibrahim  Bek  was  a  bold  warrior  and  splendid 
organizer,  but  he  was  an  Uzbek  whom  the  other  national- 
ities distrusted,  and  so  ignorant  as  to  be  utterly  unfit  to 
give  political  guidance. 


Moslems  of  the  World  Unite! 

The  chances  of  the  Basmachi  were  considerably  im- 
proved with  the  appearance  of  the  Turkish  adventurer 
Enver  Pasha  on  the  troubled  Bokharan  scene.  In  com- 
parison with  the  provincial  small-fry,  Enver  was  a  world 
figure.  He  had  been  active  in  the  Young-Turk  movement 
ever  since  1908  and  had  been  an  important  personage  in 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  Igg 

the  Turkish  nationalist  party  "Unity  and  Progress."  He 
had  achieved  no  small  fame  in  the  Turkish  army.  He  had 
been  responsible  for  the  bloody  Armenian  massacres  in 
1914-1915,  and  was  partly  instrumental  in  entangling 
Turkey  in  the  Bulgarian  war  and  then  in  the  World 
War. 

During  the  World  War  he  had  been  one  of  the  most 
powerful  men  in  Turkey,  and,  together  with  Djemal  Pasha 
and  Tolant  Pasha,  had  formed  the  dictatorial  triumvirate 
that  ruled  the  country.  Handsome,  brilliant,  magnetic,  un- 
scrupulous, daring  and  imaginative,  Enver  Pasha  had  been 
renowned  throughout  the  Moslem  world— in  Persia,  Af- 
ghanistan, India,  Central  Asia,  and  even  China.  His 
personality  had  made  itself  felt  on  the  European  stage 
as  well.  At  home,  the  Caliph-Sultan,  his  kinsman,  had 
been  a  tool  in  his  hands. 

But  his  success  was  meteoric.  He  soon  began  to  meet 
with  reverses.  His  rivalry  with  the  rapidly  rising  Mustapha 
Kemal  and  the  thorough  defeat  of  his  armies  in  the  Cau- 
casus had  culminated  in  his  being  accused  of  causing  Tur- 
key's debacle  and  being  condemned  to  death  in  1919. 
Enver  had  fled,  trying  to  reach  Odessa.  When  that 
attempt  failed,  he  escaped  to  Germany,  and  from  there, 
secretly,  in  his  own  aeropane,  took  off  for  Moscow.  But 
Nemesis  was  on  his  trail:  the  plane  crashed.  And  it  was 
only  after  he  had  spent  some  anxious  days  in  Kovno  and 
Riga  prisons,  that  he  had  finally  found  his  way  to  Moscow. 
The  grandiose  ambitions  that  Enver  Pasha  cherished  when 
he  came  to  Moscow  he  never  divulged.  On  the  face  of  it,  it 
seemed,  there  was  a  solid  basis  for  Bolshevik  friendship— 
Enver  Pasha  cordially  hated  the  British,  so  did  the  Bol- 
sheviks; the  Bolsheviks  were  suspicious  of  Germany,  so, 
professedly,  was  Enver.  Indeed,  at  the  Baku  Congress  of 
Eastern  Peoples,  Enver  declared  that  he  "hated  and 
cursed  German  imperialism  and  German  imperialists  as 
much  as  he  did  British  imperialism  and  British  imperial- 
ists." In  his  declaration  of  faith,  Enver  sounded  ultra- 
revolutionary—he  was  for  the  Soviet  Government,  he 
fully  subscribed  to  the  ideas  of  the  Bolsheviks,  he  hoped 


140  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

for  the  day  when  the  oppressed  people  of  the  world  would 
finally  see  that  salvation  lay  in  revolution. 

Enver  protested  a  little  too  much;  in  view  of  his  past, 
his  sudden  conversion  failed  to  impress  the  Bolsheviks. 
Furthermore,  in  Turkey,  Mustapha  Kemal  was  in  power; 
he  was  friendly  toward  the  Soviet  Union,  why  speculate 
too  much  on  Enver?  They  were  extremely  courteous  to 
Enver,  of  course;  but  their  orientation  was  toward  Kemal, 
who,  though  less  vehement  in  his  protestations,  was  in  a 
better  position  to  make  relatively  modest  promises  good. 
When  Enver  tried  to  act  as  intermediary  between  the 
Soviets  and  Turkey,  his  kindly  offices  were  firmly  declined. 
Enver  was  restless  and  impatient,  but  he  hid  his  resent- 
ment deep  in  his  breast.  His  greatest  disappointment  came 
when  on  March  16,  1921,  the  Bolsheviks  actually  signed 
the  peace  treaty  with  his  bitterest  enemy— Mustapha 
Kemal.  Seeing  his  hopes  of  displacing  Kemal  with  Bolshe- 
vik help  go  to  smash,  Enver  resolved  to  leave  the  Soviet 
Union.  He  went  to  Batum,  where  a  secret  Enverist  Con- 
ference planning  an  uprising  against  the  Kemal  Govern- 
ment had  been  called.  The  Bolsheviks,  not  aware  of 
Enver's  machinations  and  reluctant  to  violate  the  rules  of 
hospitality,  did  not  interfere  with  his  freedom  of  move- 
ment. However,  when  a  protest  came  from  Kemal,  direct- 
ing the  Soviet  Government's  attention  to  the  secret 
conference  in  Batum,  a  close  watch  over  Enver  was  insti- 
tuted, and  when,  shortly  after  the  Conference,  Enver  tried 
to  escape  to  Turkey,  he  was  gently  intercepted  and  de- 
tained by  the  Soviet  authorities. 

But  Enver  proved  too  slippery  even  for  Bolshevik 
vigilance.  Ostensibly  he  was  resigned  to  his  fate.  He  did 
not  even  appear  angry.  Of  course  he  understood  the 
awkward  position  in  which  the  Soviet  Government  found 
itself;  of  course  he  still  had  nothing  but  admiration  for 
the  Soviet  principles,  and  particularly  for  the  Soviet  man- 
ner of  handling  the  Moslem  national  minorities.  Indeed, 
since  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  serve  his  co-religionists 
at  home,  he  should  be  happy  to  help  them  in  the  Soviet 
Union,  especially  in  Central  Asia  where  he  was  sure  he 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  141 

could  do  a  great  deal  towards  exposing  Britain's  imperial- 
istic schemes.  Wasn't  his  friend  Djemal  Pasha  useful  to  the 
Bolsheviks  in  Afghanistan  where  he  had  organized  Ama- 
nulla  Khan's  army  against  Britain?  Well,  he  would  like  to 
go  to  Transcaspia  to  meet  Djemal  Pasha,  who  was  return- 
ing from  Kabul,  and  then  to  Bokhara  for  a  rest,  for  a 
hunting  trip,  perhaps.  His  bland  manner  and  his  appar- 
ent approval  of  their  handling  of  the  national  minority 
problem  deceived  the  authorities,  and  he  was  permitted 
to  follow  his  heart's  desire. 

He  came  to  Central  Asia  in  the  guise  of  a  warm  friend 
and  admirer  of  the  new  People's  Soviet  Republic  of  Bo- 
khara. However,  three  days  after  he  accepted  from  the 
Bokharan  Government  the  post  of  directing  the  formation 
of  a  National  Red  Army,  he  suddenly  vanished.  As  it 
turned  out  later,  he  made  his  way  to  Eastern  Bokhara, 
together  with  Khasanov,  a  Bolshevik  war  commissar  sud- 
denly turned  renegade,  to  the  remote  Kurgan-Tepi  Bek- 
dom,  where  he  joined  the  powerful  Basmach  chieftain 
Daniar-Bek. 

But  before  leaving  for  Kurgan-Tepi,  Enver  Pasha  had 
entered  into  a  secret  agreement  with  Usman  Khodzhaiev, 
the  Chairman  of  the  Central  Executive  Committee  of  the 
Bokhara  Republic.  Soon  afterwards,  Usman,  at  the  head 
of  600  men,  deserted  the  revolution  and  joined  Enver 
Pasha.  The  "allies"  issued  a  proclamation  to  the  people 
wherein  they  accused  the  Bolsheviks  of  nationalizing 
women,  destroying  religion,  and  similar  horrendous 
crimes.  The  concluding  paragraph  was  an  almost  hyster- 
ical call  to  the  "Faithful"  to  "stand  guard  over  Islam." 

Enver  Pasha's  kinship  with  the  Turkish  Chalif,  a  per- 
sonage holy  in  the  eyes  of  every  good  Moslem,  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  Afghan  pan-Islamists,  and  the  cordial 
reception  accorded  him  by  the  Bokharan  intelligentsia, 
enabled  the  reactionary  clergy  to  focus  popular  attention 
on  him  as  a  "savior  of  Islam,"  a  leader  of  the  "Moslem 
War  of  Liberation." 

Before  long,  Enver  established  relations  with  the  Emir, 
from  whom  he  received  the  exalted  title  of  "Commander 


142  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

in  Chief  of  All  the  Forces  of  Islam,  Son-in-Law  of  the 
Chalif,  and  Representative  of  Mohammed."  He  plunged 
enthusiastically  into  the  work  of  uniting  all  the  Moslem 
bands— Uzbek,  Tadjik,  Turkoman,  Kazak,  etc.  He  played 
a  subtle  game.  Pretending  to  work  hand  in  hand  with  the 
Emir  (who  was  spreading  leaflets  with  promises  of  gener- 
ous treatment  to  all  revolutionists  who  would  join  the  Bas- 
machi)  and  with  Ibrahim  Bek  who  was  winning  numerous 
battles  in  various  parts  of  Eastern  Bokhara,  he  secretly 
nurtured  his  own  ambitious  plan  of  organizing  a  vast 
"Central  Asian  Modern  State."  Dreaming  the  sweet  dream 
of  recreating,  under  his  rule,  the  great  glory  of  ancient 
Maverannger,  he  entered  into  communication  with  Fer- 
gana, Samarkand,  Khiva,  in  an  attempt  to  induce  the 
Basmach  bands  operating  in  those  regions  to  cooperate 
in  a  unified  plan  of  action.  He  appealed  to  the  chauvinism 
of  the  upper  classes  and  the  religious  fanaticism  of  the 
masses  by  urging  the  principle  of  Central  Asia  for  the 
Central  Asians  and  by  evoking  visions  of  "A  Great  Central- 
Asian  Moslem  State."  As  against  the  Communist  slogan: 
"Workers  of  the  World  Unite,"  Enver  ingeniously  coined 
the  analogous  slogan:  "Moslems  of  the  World  Unite." 

His  ultimate  ambition  was,  by  uniting  Bokhara,  Rus- 
sian and  Chinese  Turkestan,  Afghanistan,  and  Kazakstan, 
to  create  a  vast  Pan-Turanian  Empire  that  would  deliver 
a  final  death  blow  to  the  British  Empire.  Feeling  his  grow- 
ing strength,  Enver  Pasha  became  contemptuous  of  the 
Red  Army,  and  overbearing  in  his  attitude  toward  the 
Soviet  Regime.  He  began  to  make  political  demands  and 
issue  ultimata.  In  a  message  to  T.  Akchurin,  who  then 
served  in  Baisun  as  the  representative  of  the  Soviet  Gov- 
ernment of  Bokhara,  Enver  demanded  the  immediate 
withdrawal  of  the  Red  Army.  The  message,  signed  by 
"Said  Enver  the  Vice-Chalif,"  by  Ibrahim  Bek  and  two 
other  Basmach  leaders,  read  as  follows: 

To  the  Representative  of  the  Bolsheviks  in  the 
City  of  Baisun. 

We,  the  representatives  of  the  peoples  inhabiting 
the  territory  of  the  real  independent  Bokhara,  declare 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  143 

to  you,  that  after  crossing  the  Baisun  river,  we  have 
reached  the  unanimous  decision  to  keep  up  our  fight 
until  we  have  forced  you  to  evacuate  our  country.  To 
avoid  unnecessary  bloodshed,  we,  moved  by  humani- 
tarian reasons,  are  hereby  proposing  that  you  immedi- 
ately leave  our  land.  If  you  comply  with  our  demand, 
we  shall  be  your  friends  and  we  shall  help  you  to 
escape  starvation.  If  not,  you  shall  perish  as  your 
families  are  perishing  in  your  starving  country.  We 
hesitate  to  spill  human  blood.  But  we  deem  it  our 
sacred  duty  to  fight  those  who  have  broken  into  our 
country  against  the  wishes  of  our  people.  We  shall  be 
happy  to  shed  our  own  blood  and  to  die  as  martyrs 
fighting  for  our  cause. 

Enver's  inspiring  leadership  sent  a  thrill  of  joy  through 
the  Basmach  forces.  The  chieftains  everywhere  were  be- 
coming ever  more  defiant,  ever  more  aggressive.  Echoes  of 
his  slogans  are  discernible  in  every  Basmach  proclamation 
of  that  period.  Here  is  a  fascinating,  though  wretchedly 
written,  Basmach  document  sent  as  a  reply  to  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Bokharan  Government,  by  three  impor- 
tant Basmach  leaders,  one  of  whom  had  at  one  time  been 
a  prominent  Djadid  and  a  valiant  fighter  against  the 
Emir's  regime: 

Accept  our  greetings.  The  Lord  be  praised,  we  are 
in  good  health. 

We  have  received  your  senseless  letter,  and  are 
quite  surprised  by  your  strange  attention.  In  your  let- 
ter you  write:  "Since  the  beginning  you  had  worked 
mightily  for  the  Bokharan  Revolution,  but  just  as  we 
were  considering  advancing  you  to  a  very  important 
military  post,  you,  misled  by  the  presentations  of  cer- 
tain unscrupulous  people,  deserted  us.  Come  back. 
Your  mistakes  shall  be  forgiven."  Such  consideration 
from  you  is  indeed  surprising;  for  was  it  not  you  who, 
with  the  aid  of  your  Bolshevik  brothers  from  Russia, 
invaded  the  land  of  Bokhara,  shed  the  blood  of  the 
people  (nation)  and  forever  destroyed  the  gold  and 
the  bread,  in  short,  the  entire  necessary  wealth  of  the 
people,  trampled  upon  our  holy  places,  such  as  our 
mosques  and  our  mederesse,  taken,  with  the  aid  of 


144  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  Cheka,  from  the  poor  population  both  property 
and  lives,  calling  them  bureaucrats,  counter-revolu- 
tionists, kulaks,  and  burjuis?  Was  it  not  you  who  un- 
dertook the  carrying  out  of  the  idea  of  Bolshevism 
and  Communism? 

For  a  mere  piece  of  bread  you  have  sold  out  to  the 
cursed  Russians  your  religion,  your  faith,  your  con- 
science. The  Russian  Bolsheviks  have  brought  op- 
pression and  suffering  upon  Bokhara.  There  was 
much  talk  about  Bokharan  independence,  but  in  re- 
ality there  was  no  such  thing  in  fact.  That  was  why 
one  of  the  old  Bokharan  revolutionists,  the  hero 
Usman  Khodzhaiev,  despite  his  having  been  Presi- 
dent of  the  Bokharan  Republic,  declared  open  war 
against  the  Russian  consul  and  you.  He  could  not 
bear  the  yoke.  I,  one  of  the  sons  of  our  country,  in 
the  name  of  the  welfare  and  progress  of  our  land, 
have  heroically  fought  and  shall  continue  to  fight  the 
Russian  Bolsheviks  and  traitors  like  yourselves. 

Not  one  of  the  sons  of  Noble  Bokhara— the  real 
heroes  of  our  nation— will  ever  accept  your  vile  ideas, 
will  ever  sell  his  honor  and  his  conscience. 

To-day  we  behold  the  people  of  Bokhara,  one  and 
a  half  million  strong,  within  city  walls  and  in  the 
mountains,  passionately  wielding  their  swords,  fight- 
ing the  enemies  of  our  nation.  And  we,  side  by  side 
with  the  true  sons  of  our  sweet  fatherland,  will  fight 
against  you,  Communists,  for  independence  and 
prosperity.  We  are  not  brigands,  but  true  and  hum- 
ble servants  of  our  nation.  We  shall  drive  the  Russian 
enemies  from  our  country,  and  shall  rid  ourselves 
from  them  forever.  Our  ideas  and  our  paths  are, 
blessed  be  God,  genuine;  and  our  work  is  hourly  un- 
folding without  a  hitch.  Arms  in  their  hands,  from  all 
sides,  Moslems  are  voluntarily  joining  us,  eager  to 
take  part  in  the  holy  war,  zealous  in  the  struggle  to 
liberate  Islam  and  the  Moslems.  Everything  favors 
the  victory  of  Islam,  and  we  are  confident  that  soon 
we  shall  purge  our  sweet  fatherland  by  destroying  the 
faithless  and  ignominious  ones. 

You  also  write  in  your  letter:  "If  you  fail  to  heed 
our  proposal,  we  shall  show  you  our  strength  and  our 
ability  to  fight."  This  assertion  of  yours  is  precisely 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  145 

what  we  earnestly  wish.  We  are  always  ready  to  battle 
against  you;  for  all  the  guns  and  cannons  of  your 
comrades,  victory  depends  on  God.  Whomever  He 
chooses,  he  is  the  victor.  Never  and  under  no  circum- 
stances shall  we  evade  battle  with  you;  we  shall  ever 
advance. 

Dear  ones!  Forgive  our  advice.  Before  it  is  too  late, 
join  us  and  earn  our  nation's  gratitude,  work  in  the 
ranks  of  the  soldiers  of  Islam,  so  that  history  may 
record  the  popularity  of  your  names. 

We  wish  you  good  health. 

If  you  wish  to  be  at  one  with  the  soldiers  of  Islam, 
chase  the  Russians  out  of  our  sweet  land.  Then  we 
shall  work  together  for  the  glory  of  our  fatherland. 
This  is  our  only  wish. 
Respectfully, 

THE  BOKHARA  REVOLUTIONIST  KARRY  ABDULLA 

NURKUL  BATYR 

DANIAL— BEK  OLLIKBASHI. 

The  confusion  of  nationalist  and  pan-Islamist  aspira- 
tions which  their  epistle  reveals  is  typical.  Even  more 
typical  is  the  insistence  on  Bolshevik  and  Russian  identity. 
In  view  of  the  support  the  Basmachi  willingly  received 
from  the  Russian  counter-revolutionists,  the  sincerity  of 
the  Basmach  leaders  is  open  to  serious  doubt. 


Here  a  Moslem  Saint  is  Buried 

But  to  return  to  the  principal  heroes  of  our  narrative. 
Enver's  phenomenal  success  in  unifying  the  Basmach 
forces  began  to  overshadow  the  achievements  of  Ibrahim 
Bek.  This  made  Ibrahim  feel  rather  resentful.  Moreover, 
Enver's  strength  was  such  that  he  had  become  the  verita- 
ble ruler  of  Eastern  Bokhara.  This,  naturally,  made  the 
Emir  feel  rather  uneasy.  Personal  ambition,  jealousy,  in- 
trigue began  to  undermine  the  unity  that  seemed  to  have 
been  attained.  Ibrahim  Bek  kept  on  complaining  to  the 
Emir  about  his  rival,  while  the  Emir,  distrusting  yet  fear- 
ing Enver,  pursued  a  double-faced  policy.  On  the  one 


146  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

hand,  in  his  official  communications  to  Enver  he  was 
ordering  Ibrahim's  unqualified  submission  to  the  "Com- 
mander in  Chief";  on  the  other,  he  was  issuing  secret 
orders  to  Ibrahim  to  keep  close  watch  over  Enver  Pasha's 
activities  and  to  hinder  him  from  gaining  excessive  power. 
Continuous  friction  between  the  two  leaders  finally  re- 
sulted in  an  open  clash.  At  one  time  Enver  seized  Ibrahim 
and  kept  him  under  arrest  for  five  days. 

As  everywhere  else  in  the  Soviet  Union,  in  Bokhara, 
too,  counter-revolution,  devoid  of  constructive  ideas,  al- 
ways retrospective,  always  dreaming  of  a  resuscitated 
feudal  and  religious  past,  could  not  for  long  retain  the 
loyalty  of  the  masses.  Their  phrases  about  Moslem  unity, 
about  "our  people,"  about  national  independence,  etc., 
etc.,  were  bound  to  reveal  their  hopeless  unreality  when 
exposed  to  the  acid  test  of  actual  practice. 

In  spite  of  themselves,  often  completely  unaware  of  it, 
the  masses  are  inevitably  affected  by  the  impact  of  revolu- 
tion. What  seemed  unquestionable,  is  challenged  and  ex- 
posed. What  seemed  eternal,  lies  shattered  in  the  dust. 
What  in  ordinary  times  would  take  them  decades  to  learn, 
the  masses  now  discover  in  a  flash,  a  few  weeks,  in  a  few 
days.  What  appeared  tolerable,  even  desirable,  for  cen- 
turies, suddenly  begins  to  appear  monstrous  and  absurd. 
In  the  glare  of  the  revolution  lies  are  exploded,  tinsel 
ripped  off,  sham  exposed.  Revolution  brings  untold  suf- 
fering, but  it  also  brings  luminous  hope.  And  herein  lies 
its  strength.  Revolution  may  be  temporarily  put  down;  it 
cannot  permanently  be  crushed.  The  seeds  it  throws  into 
the  souls  of  men  germinate,  expand  and  finally  burst  forth 
into  the  open  once  more. 

The  spirit  of  revolution  had  swept  over  Central  Asia, 
and  no  power  on  earth  could  permanently  arrest  its  re- 
vivifying influence.  Enver  Pasha,  for  all  his  daring  and 
brilliance,  was  ultimately  powerless  against  it.  Where  fun- 
damentals were  concerned,  he  was  not  much  above  his 
associates  and  rivals.  Essentially  a  dyed-in-the-wool  reac- 
tionary, in  the  long  run  he  proved  impotent  in  the  face  of 
the  revolution.  He  could  not,  even  if  he  had  wished  to, 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  147 

free  himself  from  the  fetters  of  his  class  and  the  obsolete 
social  and  economic  ideas  of  his  adherents.  Wherever  he 
went,  all  the  evils  of  the  Emir's  regime  sprang  back  to  life. 
The  same  old  officials,  the  same  old  corruption.  Despotism 
as  cruel  and  stupid  as  that  of  the  Emir.  High-handed  treat- 
ment of  the  peasants  in  the  villages.  Requisitions,  seizures 
of  property,  abduction  of  women.  But  things  that  the  poor 
and  middle  peasant  had  once  viewed  as  normal,  they  now, 
unconsciously  responsive  to  the  spirit  of  the  times,  began 
to  consider  travesties.  The  striking  contrast  between  the 
comradely,  honest,  conciliatory  behavior  of  the  Soviet  au- 
thorities and  the  Red  Army,  and  the  supercilious,  pro- 
vocative, and  lawless  conduct  of  the  Basmach  leaders  and 
Basmach  troops  could  not  but  result  in  a  change  of  the 
peasant's  heart.  Village  after  village  began  to  turn  against 
the  Basmachi.  Peasant  delegations  begging  for  the  imme- 
diate liquidation  of  the  Basmachi  in  their  localities  were 
by  now  a  usual  occurrence  at  Soviet  headquarters.  Peasant 
cooperation  with  the  Red  Army  was  almost  the  rule.  The 
Basmach  movement  was  cracking  on  all  sides.  The  once 
irresistible  Enver  Pasha  was  meeting  with  reverses.  His  Bas- 
mach bands  were  losing  battle  after  battle.  The  Red  Army 
was  advancing  on  all  fronts.  The  "Commander  in  Chief" 
of  the  Moslem  forces  began  to  lose  his  prestige.  Wholesale 
desertions  started.  Ibrahim  Bek  now  broke  with  Enver 
Pasha  and  withdrew  to  Lokai  where  he  organized  an  up- 
rising against  his  erstwhile  chief.  Another  important 
chieftain,  Maxum-Faizula,  withdrew  his  forces  to  Kara- 
tegin.  Enver  Pasha  was  isolated.  Pressed  by  the  Red  Army, 
he  retreated  to  Kuliab,  where  he  had  hoped  to  recuperate 
and  make  his  last  stand.  But  seeing  his  forces  melt  away 
and  sensing  impending  disaster,  Enver  Pasha  hastily  re- 
treated toward  the  Afghan  border. 

There,  in  one  of  the  mountain  defiles  between  Baljuan 
and  Khovaling,  Enver,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure,  met  in 
secret  conclave  the  more  important  chieftains  and  their 
followers  who  were  still  loyal  to  him.  It  was  August  4, 
1922— a  little  over  a  year  since  Enver  had  first  appeared  in 
Central  Asia  lured  by  a  glowing  vision  of  a  pan-Turanian 


148  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

Empire  and  driven  by  a  great  thirst  to  avenge  himself 
upon  Kemal,  the  British,  the  Bolsheviks  and  all  his  other 
enemies.  He  was  reluctant  to  admit  even  to  himself  the 
extent  of  his  defeat.  He  would  go  to  Afghanistan,  he  would 
arouse  the  Moslem  world,  he  would  come  back  at  the  head 
of  a  great  Moslem  crusade  against  the  Bolsheviks.  Mean- 
while let  his  chieftains  fight  on;  woe  to  him  who  betrayed 
the  cause! 

And  just  as  Enver,  in  the  midst  of  his  men,  was  reach- 
ing the  height  of  his  eloquence  in  depicting  the  glorious 
Moslem  future,  he  espied  a  Red  Army  detachment  wind- 
ing its  way  down  the  narrow  mountain  pass.  A  fierce  battle 
ensued.  Both  sides  fought  desperately.  Enver,  distinguished 
from  the  loose-gowned  native  chieftains  by  his  snappy 
military  outfit  and  his  fine  bearing,  behaved  like  a  real 
hero.  He  fought  to  the  very  last,  shouting  commands, 
rallying  his  men.  But  it  was  to  no  avail. 

When  the  battle  was  over,  Enver's  body,  riddled  with 
bullets,  was  found  lying  under  his  wounded  horse.  His 
personal  possessions  can  now  be  seen  in  the  military  mu- 
seum at  Tashkent.  His  body,  according  to  the  natives,  is 
buried  on  top  of  a  lonely  mountain.  But  this  is  apocryphal. 
Actually  his  grave  is  unknown.  "Some  queer  fellow,"  re- 
marks Khodzhibaiev  in  his  book  on  Tadjikistan,  "has 
placed  in  Sarikhosorom  on  the  spot  where  Enver  was 
killed,  a  tall  pole  with  a  little  white  flag  attached  to  it," 
which  means  here  a  Moslem  saint  is  buried. . . . 

Thus  came  to  an  end  the  turbulent  career  of  one  of  the 
most  spectacular  adventurers  of  modern  times. 


A  Ticket  to  Heaven 

After  the  death  of  Enver  Pasha,  the  Emir  began  to  look 
around  for  some  one  of  equal  stature  to  take  charge  of  the 
Basmach  movement.  His  choice  finally  fell  on  Khadzha- 
Samibey,  better  known  as  Selim-Pasha,  one  of  Enver 
Pasha's  friends  and  colleagues.  But  Selim-Pasha  had 
neither  the  magnetic  personality,  nor  the  prestige,  nor  the 


STRUGGLE   FOR   POWER  149 

military  talents  of  his  predecessor.  The  Basmach  chief- 
tains, especially  Ibrahim  Bek,  refused  to  accept  him  as 
their  Commander-in-Chief.  His  military  plans  were  ig- 
nored, his  orders  disobeyed,  and  he  himself,  deserted  by 
the  rank  and  file  Basmachi  who  were  too  busy  gathering 
in  their  harvest  from  the  fields,  was  hard  pressed  by  the 
Red  forces  to  the  River  Pianj.  There  on  the  steep  shore  of 
the  turbulent  Pianj,  addressing  a  vast  crowd  of  Tadjik 
peasants— men,  women,  and  children— gathered  from  the 
surrounding  villages,  Selim-Pasha,  mounted  on  his  beauti- 
ful white  horse,  delivered,  according  to  legend,  the  follow- 
ing impassioned  message: 

"Oh,  brave  and  good  Tadjik  people!  Enver  Pasha  and 
I  were  the  messengers  of  Allah.  You  know  not  why  you 
have  lost  your  pious  Emir.  Nor  do  you  know  why  we  were 
the  victors  before,  and  are  the  vanquished  now.  The  rea- 
son is  that  men  of  evil  spirit  have  appeared  in  your  midst, 
men  who  submit  not  to  authority,  men  who  attack  the 
very  foundation  of  the  holy  law.  Angered  with  you,  Allah 
has  taken  from  you  the  good  Emir  and  has  cursed  you 
with  a  host  of  infidel  Djadids  and  Bolsheviks.  We  were 
victorious  when  you  obeyed  our  call  and  followed  the  ways 
of  Islam.  We  are  being  beaten,  because  your  sons  are  be- 
ing lured  away  by  those  evil  people  who  scoff  at  our  holy 
shariat  and  at  ancient  rights  of  property.  I  am  going  now 
to  join  Enver,  who  is  among  the  faithful,  in  heaven,  sur- 
rounded by  houris  and  ineffable  pleasures.  I  am  going 
there.  And  if  you  too  wish  to  join  us  in  heaven,  bridle 
your  sons,  respect  the  holy  law,  fight  for  the  sheriat  against 
the  Bolsheviks,  the  Djadids,  the  infidels." 

On  concluding  his  speech,  Selim  spurred  his  white 
horse  and  hurled  himself  into  the  abyss  below,  into  the 
roaring,  gray  waters  of  the  Pianj.  For  a  moment  his  head 
appeared  above  the  water,  and  then  it  was  gone. 

The  deaths  of  Enver  Pasha  and  Selim-Pasha,  and  the  Red 
Army's  occupation  of  three  important  Basmach  strong- 
holds in  Matchi,  Karategin,  and  Darvaz,  forced  the  fright- 
ened Emir  and  his  chieftains  to  exert  every  ounce  of 
energy  to  consolidate  their  forces  for  further  resistance 


150  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

and  for  regaining  the  confidence  of  the  peasant  masses 
without  whose  active  support  no  serious  struggle  against 
the  Bolsheviks  was  possible. 

No  one  was  more  aware  of  the  need  of  winning  the 
masses  than  Ibrahim  Bek,  who  had  by  this  time  become 
the  leader,  not  only  of  the  Uzbek,  but  also  of  the  Tadjik 
Basmach  forces.  Adopting  and  distorting  the  Bolshevik 
method  of  agitation  and  propaganda  among  the  masses, 
Ibrahim,  with  the  fervid  assistance  of  the  clergy  and  the 
counter-revolutionary  intelligentsia,  showered  the  country 
with  proclamations,  manifestoes,  promises,  threats,  im- 
precations. 

Heroic  slogans  such  as  "Death  at  the  hands  of  a  Red 
Army  man  is  a  ticket  to  Heaven,"  or  "Fight  the  Infidels: 
If  you  die,  you  die  a  martyr-hero;  if  you  live,  you  remain 
a  saint"  were  shouted  in  the  streets,  from  the  roofs  of 
mosques,  in  the  market  places. 

Letters  from  Emir  Alim  Khan,  genuine  and  forged, 
promising  money,  promising  arms,  promising  heaven  on 
earth  if  he  came  back  to  his  people,  were  spread  by  the 
thousands. 

In  one  of  such  letters,  perhaps  forged,  the  Emir  wrote: 

My  Monarchical  greetings  to  all  My  military  officers 
and  fighters  in  the  ranks,  as  well  as  to  all  the  plain 
residents— be  they  Nogais,  Uzbeks,  Tadjiks,  or  Soviet 
employees.  Finding  Ourselves  against  Our  will  far 
away  from  Our  fatherland  and  Our  people,  I  and  My 
friends  are  greatly  grieved  and  are  doing  everything 
in  Our  power  to  lighten  the  burdens  of  the  terrible 
misfortune  that  has  befallen  you  and  to  help  you  in 
your  struggle  against  the  Bolsheviks. 

However,  the  Commission  I  had  sent  out  to  inspect 
Our  Moslem  troops,  has  brought  back  tidings  that 
rob  Me  of  My  sleep.  It  has  reached  Me  that  My  peo- 
ple have  lost  faith  in  Our  final  victory,  and  are  receiv- 
ing the  Russians  with  a  great  show  of  cordiality. 
Impress  this  on  every  one— such  behavior  is  arch 
treason,  and  those  guilty  of  it  will  meet  with  dire 
punishment.  It  has  also  reached  Me  that  some  of  My 
fighters  in  the  holy  war  are  unfaithful  to  their  sacred 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  151 

vows  and  are  deserting  to  the  enemy.  These  traitors 
are  leading  Our  people  away  from  victory,  are  leading 
them  to  destruction. 

There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  Our  final  victory.  I 
have  had  conversations  with  the  Europeans  who  live 
in  Kabul  and  who  have  taken  an  interest  in  Our  af- 
fairs. They  have  promised  to  sell  Me  rifles  at  the  price 
of  one  sheep  per  old  rifle  and  two  sheep  per  new  one. 
They  also  promised  to  aid  Our  armies  by  sending  five 
hundred  airplanes  which  are  due  to  arrive  here  any 
moment.  Also  inform  My  people  that  the  Soviet  Gov- 
ernment is  at  present  in  very  bad  straits.  It  has  been 
attacked  by  the  English,  French  and  Chinese  armies, 
which  are  already  near  Moscow.  Just  hold  out  a  little 
while  longer.  The  end  of  the  Bolsheviks  is  near.  Let 
every  one  join  the  armies  of  Islam,  always  bearing  in 
mind  that  the  field  of  a  holy  battle  lies  on  the  road 
to  paradise.  Believe  that  everything  I  say  is  the  holy 
truth. 

Emir  of  Bokhara  Said-Mir-Alim-Khan.  Kabul,  1343, 
Shoval  26. 

Ibrahim  also  organized  an  excellent  system  of  espionage. 
Everywhere,  in  each  city,  in  each  village  he  had  agents- 
kulaks,  mullahs,  traitorous  Soviet  officials— who  kept  him 
informed  of  every  intention  or  plan  of  the  Soviet  authori- 
ties. The  population  of  Eastern  Bokhara,  the  peasantry, 
was  paying  for  all  this.  Recalcitrant  tax-payers  were 
brutally  punished.  In  such  cases  Ibrahim  Bek  resorted  to 
wholesale  executions.  The  reign  of  terror  instituted  by 
Ibrahim  in  Eastern  Bokhara  lasted  with  varying  degrees 
of  intensity  well  into  the  year  1925. 


Consolidating  Forces 

The  protracted  military  struggle  against  the  Basmachi 
consumed  so  much  of  the  young  Republic's  energy  that 
relatively  little  strength  was  left  for  attempting  anything 
else.  Ambitious  programs,  and  plans,  and  resolutions  were 
proposed  and  adopted,  but  these  were  for  the  most  part 


152  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

only  excellent  intentions,  registered  on  official  paper,  and 
made  to  appear  important  by  the  application  of  the  gov- 
ernment seal.  Still,  by  the  end  of  1922— after  the  Party 
purge— systematic  efforts  at  economic  rehabilitation  were 
actually  on  the  way:  the  exchange  of  commodities  between 
the  city  and  the  village  was  considerably  improved;  state 
trading  centers  were  at  work;  a  number  of  commercial 
enterprises  with  the  participation  of  private  capital  were 
launched;  both  the  export  to  Russia  of  raw  products- 
cotton,  wool,  caracul,  silk— and  the  import  from  Russia  of 
some  manufactured  products  were  definitely  on  the  in- 
crease; the  Bokharan  State  Bank  was  opened;  an  apparatus 
for  the  collection  of  taxes  was  devised  and  was  already  in 
operation;  the  first  practical  steps  toward  regulating  cur- 
rency emission  and  establishing  a  fixed  state  budget  were 
made. 

Towards  the  middle  of  1923,  two  more  banks,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  Bokharan  State  Bank,  were  doing  a  brisk  busi- 
ness—the Central  Asian  Commercial  and  Agricultural 
Banks.  The  total  capital  of  the  three  banks  was  then  about 
10,000,000  gold  rubles. 

State  revenues,  insignificant  in  1921,  had  grown  to 
slightly  over  2,000,000  rubles  in  1922,  and  to  8,000,000  in 
1923.  In  1923  the  Bokhara-Termez  Railroad,  which  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  Basmachi,  was  rebuilt.  Telegraph 
and  telephone  communications  were  reestablished.  Over 
1,000,000  gold  rubles  were  spent  in  repairing  the  damages 
done  by  the  Basmachi  in  the  cities  of  Bokhara,  Kermin, 
Karshi,  Denau,  etc.  Also,  a  great  deal  was  done  during  this 
period  in  reconstructing  irrigation  canals  in  districts  not 
exposed  to  Basmach  ravages,  and  in  stimulating  cotton- 
growing  and  cattle-raising. 

Considering  the  difficulties,  an  enormous  amount  of 
work  was  accomplished  also  in  the  fields  of  education  and 
sanitation.  In  education  the  policy  was  to  open  as  many 
Soviet  schools  as  possible.  More  than  illiteracy  (96  per  cent 
of  Bokharans  were  illiterate)  the  new  government  feared 
the  influence  of  the  old  schools  conducted  by  the  mullahs. 
To  stimulate  interest  in  the  new  education,  the  government 


STRUGGLE    FOR    POWER  153 

found  it  necessary  to  grant  privileges,  exemptions,  and 
even  monetary  compensations  to  parents  who  agreed  to 
send  their  children  to  Soviet  schools.  A  few  teachers' 
training  schools  were  opened.  Also  courses  were  organized 
to  train  natives  for  various  political,  economic,  and  cul- 
tural jobs.  Two  million  rubles,  i.e.,  28  per  cent  of  the 
State  revenues,  were  spent  on  education  in  1923.  During 
the  same  year,  the  USSR  asigned  24  medical  specialists, 
136  general  practitioners,  and  154  nurses  to  Bokhara.  A 
number  of  medical  clinics  and  pharmacies  was  opened. 
Large  quantities  of  drugs  were  imported  from  Russia  and 
Germany.  The  most  remarkable  achievement  in  the  field 
of  sanitation  was  the  opening  of  the  now  famous  Institute 
of  Tropical  Medicine.  (It  is  due  to  the  work  of  this  Insti- 
tute that  malaria,  the  bane  of  Bokhara's  existence,  has 
been  practically  eliminated  in  the  city  and  considerably 
reduced  throughout  the  country.) 

The  work  of  the  Government  took  a  sharp  turn  toward 
greater  effectiveness  immediately  after  the  first  joint  Con- 
ference of  the  Central  Asian  Republics  in  1923.  One  re- 
sult of  that  Conference  was  the  thoroughgoing  inspection 
of  all  the  State  and  Party  bureaus  with  the  consequent 
intensification  in  the  weeding  out  of  hundreds  of  saboteurs, 
traitors,  provocateurs,  and  other  dubious  characters  who 
had  clogged  the  governmental  machine.  Another  result 
was  the  reorganization  of  all  the  economic  departments  of 
Bokhara  with  the  aid  of  some  of  the  best  and  most  experi- 
enced workers  brought  in  from  Turkestan.  Chaos  began 
to  be  harnessed.  Economic  and  political  life  was  entering 
upon  its  normal  course. 

The  most  significant  result  of  three  years  of  fighting  the 
Basmachi  was  the  inexorable  and  ever-accelerating  process 
of  class  differentiation  in  the  cities  and  villages  of  Western 
and  Central  Bokhara.  From  an  attitude  of  antagonism  or 
neutrality,  the  poor  and  middle  peasants,  disillusioned  in 
the  Basmachi  and  their  nationalist  and  religious  slogans, 
were  gradually  swinging  into  an  attitude  of  active  sympa- 
thy with  the  revolution  and  its  purposes.  More  and  more 
they  were  drawn  into  the  revolutionary  ranks,  cooperating 


154  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

with  the  Red  Army,  organizing  their  own  fighting  detach- 
ments, arming  themselves  with  clubs  when  better  weapons 
were  not  available,  and  scouring  the  mountains  in  pursuit 
of  the  Basmachi.  By  1923  there  was  a  large  and  well- 
functioning  organization  of  poor  and  middle  peasants— 
the  Peasants'  Union— that  was  doing  a  great  deal  of  work 
in  crystallizing  the  peasants'  hatred  for  the  beys,  the  ku- 
laks, the  reactionary  mullahs.  Counter-revolution,  despite 
its  fierce  resistance,  was  beginning  to  retreat,  to  yield 
ground. 

In  the  cities,  too,  a  similar  process  was  taking  place.  A 
country  that  had  scarcely  known  of  organized  labor  had 
within  three  years  created  a  number  of  labor  unions, 
unions  of  builders,  teachers,  weavers,  unskilled  workers, 
and  artisans.  In  1923  there  were  only  about  12,000  mem- 
bers in  these  unions.  But  their  members  were  the  most 
advanced  and  respected  in  the  laboring  population  of  the 
country.  Their  influence  in  revolutionizing  the  masses  was 
enormous. 


Bolshevik  Technique 

At  last  the  government  was  in  a  position  to  pay  a  little 
more  attention  to  the  Basmach-ridden  sections  in  the 
East,  along  the  Afghan  and  Indian  borders.  But  because  of 
the  absence  of  roads  and  other  means  of  communication, 
segregating  it  from  the  rest  of  the  Soviet  Union,  Eastern 
Bokhara  was  not  only  exposed  to  Basmach  operations  gen- 
erated within  the  country  but  also  to  the  ravages  of 
brigand  bands  organized  across  the  borders.  It  was  no  acci- 
dent that  Enver  Pasha,  Selim-Pasha,  and  a  host  of  other 
adventurers  chose  Eastern  Bokhara  as  the  center  of  their 
anti-Soviet  activities. 

Life  in  Eastern  Bokhara  was  so  precarious  that  whole 
regions  had  become  completely  depopulated.  Peasants 
abandoned  their  homes  and  sought  refuge  in  the  moun- 
tains. About  43,000  peasant  families  with  stock,  cattle  and 
implements  fled  to  Afghanistan.  As  a  result  of  the  dis- 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  155 

turbed  conditions,  the  sown  area  in  Eastern  Bokhara  was 
reduced  by  72  per  cent,  the  cattle  by  60  per  cent,  the  popu- 
lation by  25  per  cent.  The  country  was  ruined  and  starving. 

Everything  was  in  a  state  of  chaos.  Nominally  Soviet 
territory,  Eastern  Bokhara  had  no  Soviet  or  any  other  kind 
of  government.  Revolutionary  committees,  composed  al- 
most exclusively  of  Russians  not  sufficiently  familiar  with 
local  conditions,  existed  only  where  detachments  of  the 
Red  Army  were  stationed.  Under  such  circumstances  little 
if  anything  could  be  done  by  the  committees  in  establish- 
ing contacts  with  the  population,  in  spreading  the  revolu- 
tionary message,  in  winning  over  the  peasantry  by  wise 
economic,  political,  and  cultural  measures. 

The  position  of  the  revolutionists  in  Eastern  Bokhara 
was  indeed  difficult.  To  attempt  anything  constructive, 
they  had  to  eliminate  the  Basmachi;  to  eliminate  the 
Basmachi,  they  had  to  win  the  masses;  and  to  win  the 
masses,  they  had  to  do  something  constructive. 

Refusing  to  be  confounded,  the  Bokharan  government 
finally  (July,  1923)  took  the  bull  by  both  horns.  Fighting 
the  Basmachi  and  constructive  work,  it  was  decided,  must 
be  done  simultaneously.  The  task  was  entrusted  to  an 
especially  appointed  Revolutionary  Council  consisting  of 
a  Military  Chief  and  a  Political  Adviser,  and  presided  over 
by  a  leading  Bokharan  Communist,  Faizulla  Khodzhaiev. 
The  main  problem  was  the  Sovietization  of  this  heretofore 
neglected  region.  Concomitantly  with  a  succession  of  well- 
considered  military  strokes,  the  Council  proceeded  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  Civil  Government.  The  entire  region 
was  divided  into  central  and  local  administrative  units, 
each  unit  under  the  control  of  a  Revolutionary  Com- 
mittee. 

The  task  of  organizing  those  administrative  units  was 
an  onerous  one.  Even  under  the  Emir  there  were  fewer 
capable  administrators  and  executives  in  the  Eastern  sec- 
tion of  the  Khanate  than  in  Bokhara  proper.  The  revolu- 
tion further  depleted  their  numbers.  Of  those  that 
remained,  an  infinitesimal  minority  could  be  relied  on  to 
fit  the  inchoate  will  of  the  masses  into  the  clear  purposes 


156  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

of  the  Bolsheviks.  Most  of  the  old  and  experienced  officials 
were  definitely  anti-Soviet.  Those  few  who  were  not  wholly 
inimical  were  too  ignorant  of  the  theory  and  practice  of 
Communism  and  insufficiently  attuned  to  the  pulse  of  the 
revolution.  To  be  sure,  there  were  some  Russians  avail- 
able. But  if  not  contrary  to  Bolshevik  principles,  the  put- 
ting of  Russians  into  conspicuous  places  in  Bokhara,  and 
particularly  in  the  troubled  Eastern  section,  would  be 
highly  impolitic.  It  would  expose  to  misinterpretation  the 
Russians'  motives.  Accordingly,  all  the  lime-light  posts  on 
the  Revolutionary  Committees  were  therefore  given  to 
natives  believed  to  be  in  sympathy  with  the  revolution.  To 
prevent  serious  distortions  of  policy,  members  of  the  Com- 
munist Party,  generally  tried  revolutionists  from  more 
highly  cultivated  Moslem  peoples— Tartars  from  the  Volga, 
Turkomans  from  Baku— were  placed  in  unostentatious, 
but  highly  strategic  positions.  This  had  the  desired  effect. 
In  addition  to  insuring  relatively  consistent  Bolshevik 
policies,  it  gave  the  natives  a  sense  of  self-government  and 
removed  the  possible  suspicion  of  Russian  chauvinism. 
The  presence  of  Tartars  and  Turkomans  in  the  govern- 
ment was  salutary  also  in  that  such  officials,  being  them- 
selves members  of  minority  Moslem  peoples,  were  more 
apt  to  grasp  the  problems  and  enter  into  the  psychology 
of  the  natives. 

A  great  deal  was  done  to  improve  the  economic  life  of 
Eastern  Bokhara.  Bazaars  were  revived,  manufactured 
products  imported,  agricultural  products  purchased  by  the 
government.  Branches  of  all  the  departments  of  the  gov- 
ernment of  Bokhara  were  established  in  Dushambe.  From 
Turkestan  and  the  Caucasus  contingents  of  experienced 
organizers  of  labor  and  peasant  unions,  of  cooperatives,  of 
industry  and  commerce  were  despatched  to  Eastern  Bo- 
khara. In  recognition  of  old  attachments  and  loyalties,  a 
series  of  local,  tribal  (Lokai,  etc.) ,  and  national  (Tadjik, 
Uzbek,  Kirghiz,  etc.)  congresses  was  called,  where  current 
economic,  administrative,  and  cultural  problems  were 
taken  up  and  thrashed  out.  In  September,  1923,  the  first 
modern  Soviet  School  opened  in  Dushambe,  and  shortly 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  157 

after  a  Soviet  school  was  started  in  Karatag  and  then  in 
Kuliab. 

The  government  was  so  determined  to  rally  the  entire 
people  against  the  Basmachi  that  it  took  every  care  to 
neutralize  the  opposition  of  the  rich  by  respecting  their 
property  rights  and  to  win  the  support  of  the  clergy  by 
sparing  their  religious  sensibilities.  The  mosque  was  not 
touched.  The  mullahs  were  not  criticized.  Religion  was 
either  left  severely  alone  or  shown  every  sign  of  deference. 
Bolshevik  tolerance  finally  reached  such  a  point  here  that 
the  Moslem  divines  were  actually  drawn  into  making  pro- 
Soviet  declarations  and  assailing  the  Basmachi. 

After  several  months  of  intensive  work,  the  situation  in 
Eastern  Bokhara  underwent  a  basic  change.  The  peasants, 
weary  of  lawlessness  and  bloodshed,  were  glad  to  return  to 
a  settled  life.  They  were  coming  back  from  the  mountains 
in  hordes.  Assured  of  the  government's  readiness  to  over- 
look past  sins,  Basmach  bands,  one  after  another,  began  to 
surrender  their  arms  and  return  to  peaceful  labor.  Ibra- 
him Bek's  prestige  fell  so  low  that  he  adopted  trickery  and 
magic  to  preserve  a  semblance  of  authority  with  the 
masses.  A  Tadjik  collective  farmer,  who  in  1924  had  been 
a  basmach  under  Ibrahim  Bek,  told  me  the  following 
story:  "Once  when  things  appeared  particularly  hopeless 
for  our  band,  Ibrahim  Bek  in  the  presence  of  a  couple  of 
hundred  mutinous  followers,  rose  from  his  gold-embroid- 
ered carpet  and  slowly  and  solemnly  advanced  toward  a 
tall  lonely  tree.  He  fell  on  his  knees  and  pronounced  a 
long  and  devout  prayer.  Then  he  rose  and,  muttering 
something  to  himself,  put  his  ear  to  the  trunk  of  the  inno- 
cently rustling  tree.  The  performance  lasted  about  half  an 
hour.  The  face  of  Ibrahim  was  so  austere  and  so  concen- 
trated that  a  great  awe  fell  upon  the  people.  When  every- 
thing was  wrapped  in  dead  silence,  Ibrahim,  his  eyes 
burning  with  an  intense  flame,  turned  to  his  men  and  in 
a  ringing  voice  announced:  'I  have  just  spoken  to  the 
Emir  and  the  head  of  the  English  army.  They  have  given 
me  their  word  of  honor  that  within  a  few  days  they  will 


158  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

send  here  a  countless  number  of  cavalry  and  infantry/ 
The  mutinous  brigands  were  subdued." 

Nothing  but  desperation  could  have  driven  Ibrahim  to 
such  dangerous  tricks.  Seeing  that  the  Tadjik  masses  were 
turning  definitely  against  him,  he  was  hoping  against  hope 
that  a  miracle  would  happen,  and  that  "countless  numbers 
of  cavalry  and  infantry"  would  come  from  the  hills  of 
Afghanistan  and  save  him  from  his  plight.  To  raise  funds, 
he  tried  to  sell  all  kinds  of  high-sounding  titles;  but  the 
naive  Tadjiks  would  not  be  lured.  The  villagers  now  be- 
came adamant  in  refusing  Ibrahim  provisions.  Enraged,  he 
would  swoop  down  upon  a  village,  seize  everything  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on,  slay  any  one  who  dared  to  object, 
and  flee  back  into  the  hills.  But  neither  magic,  nor  titles, 
nor  murder  could  help  him.  He  was  doomed.  Counter- 
revolution in  Eastern  Bokhara,  though  not  entirely  wiped 
out,  was  now  definitely  on  the  decline. 


Showing  Way  to  Millions 

The  years  1924-1925  brought  to  a  close  the  second  phase 
of  the  Bokharan  Revolution.  It  is  not  within  the  province 
of  this  book  to  detail  the  progress  of  Soviet  Bokhara  year 
by  year.  Perhaps  a  few  figures  taken  from  the  report  sub- 
mitted by  the  Government  before  the  Fifth  All-Bokharan 
Congress,  will  help  the  reader  in  forming  some  idea  of 
Bokhara's  achievements  during  this  period.  The  cotton 
area  was  increased  100  per  cent  in  comparison  with  1923. 
The  total  sown  area  jumped  from  380,000  to  425,000  hec- 
tares. The  value  of  agricultural  production  in  1924  was 
45,000,000  rubles,  of  cattle-raising,  7,000,000.  Over  2,180,- 
ooo  rubles  were  spent  restoring  the  system  of  irrigation.  In 
1923-1924,  the  imports  amounted  to  7,500,000  and  exports 
to  10,500,000;  in  1924-1925  it  was  planned  to  increase  im- 
ports to  15,000,000,  and  exports  to  20,000,000.  The  num- 
ber of  branches  of  government  commercial  enterprises 
increased  from  25  in  1923  to  98  in  1924. 

After  citing  similarly  striking  figures  with  regard  to 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  159 

banking,  road  building,  education,  sanitation,  social  insur- 
ance, etc.,  the  government  report  concludes  as  follows: 

Such  are  the  results  of  the  government's  activities. 
The  results,  though  noteworthy,  cannot  of  course  sat- 
isfy us  except  as  a  beginning.  We  took  hold  of  a 
country  that  had  been  devastated  by  the  Emir.  What 
the  Emir's  regime  bequeathed  to  us  was  all-pervading 
economic  decay,  a  pauperized  peasantry,  universal  il- 
literacy, backwardness,  bigotry.  That  we  are  the  first 
to  begin  to  build  this  country  may  under  the  circum- 
stances be  considered  a  just  cause  for  pride.  It  is  diffi- 
cult. In  spite  of  the  difficulties  and  the  incessant 
fighting,  we  have  managed  to  carry  out,  in  part  at 
least,  the  task  laid  upon  us— to  build,  to  organize,  to 
defeat  the  enemy,  and,  what  is  most  important,  to 
steadily  lay  the  foundation  of  the  country's  prosperity, 
to  improve  our  economic  structure  and  better  the  con- 
ditions of  the  workers  and  peasants.  Under  the  leader- 
ship of  the  Communist  Party  of  Bokhara  our  toiling 
masses  in  their  recent  victories  have  not  only  shown 
their  strength  to  their  former  oppressors  but  have  also 
pointed  out  a  way  to  the  millions  of  the  oppressed 
peoples  in  the  East. 

It  was  clear  that,  on  the  whole,  Soviet  Bokhara,  helped 
by  the  proletariat  of  the  other  Soviet  Republics  and  guided 
by  Marxist-Leninist  theory,  was  pursuing  more  or  less  a 
socialist  course. 

In  evaluating  the  work  of  the  government,  the  delegates 
to  the  Congress  had  to  answer  for  themselves  these  ques- 
tions: Had  the  government  been  creating  some  of  the  pre- 
requisites for  building  a  socialist  order  in  Bokhara?  Had 
the  growth  of  the  productive  forces  of  the  country  been 
accelerated?  Who  had  been  molding  and  directing  the 
Republic's  economic  and  cultural  policies— the  capitalists 
and  landlords  and  imperialists  for  their  own  profit,  or  the 
vanguard  of  the  workers  and  poor  peasants  for  the  benefit 
of  the  whole  working  population?  Whose  were  the  Soviets? 
Whose  the  courts?  Whose  the  schools?  Whose  the  militia 
(police)?  Whose  the  army? 

The  answers  were  obvious.  Indeed,  the  delegates  were 


l6o  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

so  impressed  with  the  constructive  achievements  of  the 
government  that  they  moved  that  the  word  "Socialist"  be 
added  to  the  official  name  of  the  Republic.  By  a  unani- 
mous vote,  the  Congress  declared  Bokhara  a  Socialist 
Soviet  Republic. 


A  Wrong  Made  Right 

The  addition  of  the  word  "Socialist"  to  the  name  of  the 
relatively  primitive,  industrially  backward  Soviet  Repub- 
lic of  Bokhara  was  exceedingly  significant.  It  marked  the 
ideological  growth  of  the  native  leaders,  their  acceptance 
of  the  basic  thesis  of  the  Bolshevik  Party  as  to  the  socialist 
character  of  the  Bolshevik  Revolution  and  their  readiness 
finally  to  join  the  Union  of  Socialist  Soviet  Republics. 

Besides  the  liberation  of  labor,  however,  and  the  strug- 
gle for  a  cooperative  commonwealth,  the  word  "Socialist" 
also  stands  for  the  end  of  all  national  oppression.  It  has 
been  previously  pointed  out  that  Bokhara's  relations  with 
what  was  once  Great  Russia— the  backbone  of  Czarist  im- 
perialism—had been  amicably  settled  by  the  agreements 
of  1921. 

Those  agreements  were  derived  from  the  basic  Marxist 
propositions  that  national  inequality  is  a  result  of  histori- 
cally conditioned  economic  inequality  and  that  the  essence 
of  the  national  question  consists  in  the  minority  nation- 
alities' overcoming  the  backwardness  they  inherited  from 
the  past  and  catching  up  with  the  more  advanced  coun- 
tries in  a  political,  cultural,  economic,  and  every  other 
sense. 

Accordingly,  instead  of  enhancing  Great  Russian  domi- 
nation, the  Russian  Bolsheviks  have  always  regarded  it 
their  task  to  help  the  working  masses  of  the  other,  the  non- 
Great  Russian  nations,  to  overtake  Central  Russia  which, 
owing  to  historical  causes,  had  gone  ahead  of  them.  The 
first  step  in  that  direction  was  "to  organize  industrial  cen- 
ters in  the  republics  of  the  formerly  oppressed  nations  and 
to  attract  the  greatest  possible  number  of  local  workers  to 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  l6l 

these  industries."  The  prerequisite,  the  real  carrier  of  a 
socialist  revolution  anywhere  is  the  proletariat,  and  the 
only  way  to  have  a  growing  native  proletariat  in  Bokhara 
was  to  accelerate  the  development  of  native  industries. 
The  ultimate  solution  of  the  national  problem,  the  Rus- 
sian and  Bokharan  Bolsheviks  knew,  would  be  in  develop- 
ing the  productive  forces  of  the  country  under  the 
hegemony,  not  of  the  bourgeoisie,  but  of  the  proletariat, 
i.e.,  under  a  proletarian  dictatorship. 

But  in  1924  the  national  problem  in  Bokhara  had  an- 
other, purely  local,  aspect:  the  strained  relations  among  the 
various  peoples  who  had  for  centuries  lived  in  mutual 
antagonism  under  the  Emir. 

The  Bokharan  revolution  for  instance  did  not  immedi- 
ately remove  the  dangerous  signs  of  Uzbek  chauvinism 
bequeathed  by  the  old  regime.  "We  are  all  Bokharans," 
reiterated  the  Uzbek  revolutionists  enthusiastically.  By 
insisting  on  this  all-inclusive  "Bokharans,"  which  to  them 
was  synonymous  with  "Uzbeks,"  they  were  obviously  yield- 
ing to  the  temptation  of  attenuating  national  differences 
by  denying  their  existence.  However,  the  national  minori- 
ties who  had  for  centuries  been  oppressed  by  the  Uzbek 
Emir  declined  to  view  the  matter  in  the  same  light.  The 
slogan  of  self-determination  of  peoples  had  burned  itself 
into  the  souls  of  men.  The  revolution  had  promised  self- 
determination  of  peoples,  and  the  Kazaks,  Tadjiks,  Turko- 
mans and  Kirghiz  had  taken  these  promises  seriously. 
Rather  than  attenuate,  they  tended  to  exaggerate  national 
distinctions.  They  resented  Uzbek  supremacy  and  clam- 
ored for  national  autonomy,  national  governments. 

The  problem  was  further  complicated  by  the  fact  that 
the  individual  nationalities  comprising  Bokhara  inhabited 
not  only  Bokhara  but  the  other  Central  Asian  Soviet  Re- 
publics. The  majority  of  the  Khorezm  (Khiva)  Republic, 
for  instance,  was  Uzbek.  Some  sections  of  the  Turkestan 
Republic  were  settled  by  Uzbeks,  others  by  Tadjiks,  still 
others  by  Turkomans,  and  still  others  by  Kirghiz.  This 
was  the  evil  legacy  of  Central  Asia's  past. 

Throughout  the  first  period  Soviet  Bokhara  made  peren- 


l62  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

nial  attempts  to  adjust  the  growing  national  tangle  within 
its  borders.  In  1923,  the  Bokharan  government  had  called 
special  congresses  to  discuss  the  economic  and  cultural 
problems  of  the  various  national  minorities  living  within 
the  confines  of  the  Bokharan  Republic.  There  was  a 
Kirghiz  Congress,  and  a  Kazak  Congress,  and  a  Turkoman 
Congress.  The  government  had  organized  special  regional 
and  district  departments  to  carry  on  work  among  these 
peoples.  The  Central  Executive  Committee  of  the  Repub- 
lic had  formed  a  special  Turkoman  section  which,  besides 
attending  to  the  economic  and  cultural  needs  of  the  Turko- 
mans in  Bokhara,  was  also  engaged  in  administrative  and 
representational  work.  As  to  the  Tadjiks,  they  were  too 
busy  fighting  with  or  against  the  Basmachi  to  attempt  any- 
thing constructive  along  the  lines  of  national  self-determi- 
nation. 

The  vain  efforts  of  the  government  to  maintain  peace 
among  the  various  nationalities  inhabiting  Bokhara 
proved  definitely  that  the  only  efficacious  remedy  for  the 
evil  of  chauvinism  would  be  the  breaking  up  of  Bokhara, 
as  well  as  the  other  Central  Asian  Soviet  states,  into  small 
national  units,  and  the  reassembling  of  those  units  into 
distinct  national  Republics,  on  the  basis  of  ethnic,  cul- 
tural, and  national  kinship.  The  idea  of  National  Soviet 
Republics  met  with  the  enthusiastic  approval  of  the  vast 
majority  of  the  population  in  Central  Asia.  Since  how- 
ever such  reorganization  would  involve  large  sections  be- 
longing to  the  Soviet  Union  (Turkestan  for  instance),  it 
became  imperative  that  Bokhara  too  become  a  part  of  the 
USSR.  The  fact  that  she  declared  herself  a  Socialist  Soviet 
Republic  made  her  eligible  for  membership. 

Accordingly,  the  same  All-Bokhara  Congress  (Septem- 
ber 20,  1924)  which  declared  Bokhara  a  Socialist  Republic 
passed  the  following  historic  decision: 

National  development  on  soviet  principles  demands 
the  union  of  the  laboring  classes  of  all  nations  on  a 
united  soviet  territory  in  order  to  secure  their  eco- 
nomic and  political  development  and  to  promote 
cultural-national  construction. 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  163 

The  national  movement  in  this  spirit  and  for  such 
purposes  has  spread  throughout  Bokhara,  embracing 
the  largest  part  of  the  laboring  masses.  A  single  will 
is  manifest  here:  to  unite  the  separate  parts  into  one 
national  unit,  to  give  to  the  nations  the  soviet  state 
formation. 

These  aims  are  expressed  also  by  the  fraternal  peo- 
ples outside  of  the  frontiers  of  the  Bokhara  People's 
Soviet  Republic.  A  united  general  impulse  embraces 
the  laboring  population  of  Bokhara,  Turkestan,  and 
Khorezm. 

The  will  of  the  laboring  people  is  the  law  of  the 
soviet  state.  By  virtue  of  this,  the  Fifth  All-Bokhara 
Congress  of  Soviets  solemnly  declares: 

(1)  The  supreme  will  of  the  peoples  of  Bokhara— 
the  Uzbeks  and  Tadjiks— is  the  creation  by  them,  to- 
gether with  the  Uzbeks  of  Turkestan  and  Khorezm,  of 
the  Uzbek  Socialist  Soviet  Republic,  a  part  of  which 
is  formed  by  the  Autonomous  Region  of  Tadjiks. 

(2)  Fraternal  agreement  on  the  entering  of  the 
Turkoman  people  of  Bokhara  into  the  composition  of 
the  Turkoman  Socialist  Soviet  Republic. 

(3)  States  the  absolute  necessity  for  Socialist  Uzbek- 
istan and  Turkmenistan  to  join  the  Union  of  Soviet 
Socialist  Republics  for  the  purpose  of  socialist  con- 
struction, protection  against  imperialism,  and  in  vir- 
tue of  international  fraternity  of  the  laboring  masses. 

Go  ahead,  brothers  and  comrades,  against  the  na- 
tional hostility  and  subjugation  by  the  bourgeoisie, 
for  the  liberation  of  Eastern  peoples,  for  the  dictator- 
ship of  the  proletariat,  and  for  communism! 

For  the  Congress:  Presidium  of  the  Fifth  All- 
Bokhara  Congress  of  Soviets. 

After  similar  resolutions  had  been  passed  by  the  other 
Republics  involved— Khorezm  (Khiva)  and  Turkestan— the 
Central  Executive  Committee  of  the  USSR,  recognizing 
"that  the  free  expression  of  the  will  of  the  toiling  peoples 
is  the  supreme  law,"  decreed  the  formation  of  the  Uzbek 
and  Turkoman  states  and  their  admission  as  constituent 
members  into  the  Soviet  Union,  with  Samarkand  as  the 
capital  of  the  first  and  Ashkhabad  of  the  second.  Eastern 


164  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Bokhara  was  declared  to  be  the  Autonomous  Soviet  Re- 
public of  the  Tadjiks,  with  Dushambe,  subsequently  re- 
named Stalinabad,  as  the  capital  city.  Tadjikistan  was 
to  remain  within  the  framework  of  the  Uzbek  Re- 
public. 

Bokhara  went  through  its  final  transmutation.  Disinte- 
gration was  immediately  followed  by  the  reintegration  of 
its  national  elements  into  the  Uzbek  and  Tadjik  states, 
each  embracing  those  sections  of  Central  Asia  where  the 
majority  of  the  population  was  respectively  either  Uzbek 
or  Tadjik.  By  a  process  of  fission  Old  Bokhara  formed  the 
nuclei  of  two  new  states,  and  by  a  process  of  accretion 
each  nucleus  grew  larger  at  the  expense  of  old  Khiva  and 
Turkestan.  Incidentally,  there  is  no  more  Turkestan  or 
Khiva.  After  the  Tadjik  sections  of  the  two  Republics 
were  absorbed  into  Tadjikistan  and  the  Uzbek  sections 
into  Uzbekistan,  the  remainder  went  partly  into  Kazakstan 
and  partly  into  Turkmenistan. 

Thus  an  ancient  wrong  was  made  right.  "This  act," 
boasts  a  Soviet  geographer,  "has  had  no  parallel  in  history, 
and  has  been  made  possible  only  in  the  land  of  the  Soviets, 
where  all  nationalities  have  equal  rights  and  where  in 
perfect  conformity  with  the  great  principles  of  the  Soviet 
Government  each  people  is  allowed  to  determine  its  own 
destiny." 

To  the  Tadjiks,  especially,  this  change  was  the  realiza- 
tion of  a  long  cherished  dream— to  develop  their  own 
nationality  and  their  own  culture  within  the  framework 
of  their  own  state.  "Greetings  to  Tadjikistan,"  wired 
Stalin  on  that  occasion,  "greetings  to  the  new  toilers'  So- 
viet Republic  at  the  gates  of  Hindustan.  I  wish  you  every 
success  in  making  your  Republic  a  model  for  the  countries 

in  the  East Comrades  in  Tadjikistan,  raise  the  culture 

of  your  country,  develop  your  country's  economy,  help 
the  city  and  village  toilers,  draw  to  yourselves  the  finest 
sons  of  your  fatherland,  and  show  to  the  entire  East  that 
you  are  the  best  offspring  of  an  ancestry  that  held  steadily 
to  the  banner  of  liberation!" 


STRUGGLE    FOR   POWER  165 

The  announcement  of  their  national  liberation  and 
Stalin's  warm  greetings  were  received  with  a  tremendous 
outburst  of  enthusiasm  throughout  the  land. 

Do  you  hear  the  happy  shouting,  Tadjikistan? 
Your  glorious  day  has  come,  Tadjikistan! 

Your  day  has  come!  Your  day  of  joy  has  come, 
My  wild,  rocky,  young  Tadjikistan! 

One  of  a  mighty  family  of  peoples, 

Your  chains  are  smashed,  my  land  Tadjikistan! 

For  centuries  enslaved,  now  your  own  master, 
Your  former  rulers  gone,  Tadjikistan! 

To  the  peoples  of  the  East  your  key  has  opened 
The  doors  to  a  new  life,  O  great  Tadjikistan! 


PART  THREE 

COMPLETING  THE  BOURGEOIS 
REVOLUTION 


"Formerly,  the  national  question  was  regarded  from  the 
reformist  point  of  view;  it  was  regarded  as  an  independent 
question  entirely  separated  from  the  general  question  of  capi- 
talist rule,  of  the  overthrow  of  imperialism  and  the  proletarian 
revolution.  It  was  tacitly  understood  that  the  victory  of  the 
proletariat  in  Europe  was  possible  without  a  close  alliance 
with  the  liberation  movement  in  the  colonies,  that  the  national 
colonial  question  could  be  solved  quietly,  "automatically,"  off 
the  beaten  track  of  the  proletarian  revolution,  entirely  sepa- 
rate from  the  revolutionary  struggle  with  imperialism.  To-day 
we  can  say  that  this  anti-revolutionary  outlook  has  been  ex- 
posed. Leninism  has  proved,  and  the  imperialist  war  and  the 
revolution  in  Russia  have  confirmed  it,  that  the  national  ques- 
tion can  be  solved  only  in  connection  with  and  on  the  basis  of 
the  proletarian  revolution,  and  that  the  road  to  victory  in  the 
West  leads  through  the  revolutionary  alliance  with  the  libera- 
tion movement  of  the  colonies  and  dependent  countries  against 
imperialism.  The  national  question  is  part  and  parcel  of  the 
general  question  of  the  proletarian  revolution  and  of  the 
question  of  the  dictatorship  of  the  proletariat." 

—JOSEPH  STALIN,  "The  National  Ques- 
tion/' Foundations  of  Leninism. 


IX 

WHERE  COTTON  IS  KING 

Tender  the  gold  of  the  white  atlas  boon, 
Green  is  the  sheen  of  its  robe  iridescent 
Under  the  hot  gleaming  sun  of  high  noon. 
— AIDIN  SABIROVA,  Uzbek  Poetess. 


White  Gold 

WHETHER  one  reads  local  papers,  or  listens  to 
orators,  or  converses  with  workers,  or  visits  schools, 
movies,  unions,  cooperatives,  the  first  word  or  derivation 
from  that  word  one  is  likely  to  see  or  hear  is  khlopok— 
cotton— the  "white  gold"  of  Central  Asia.  People  here  talk 
cotton,  sing  cotton,  play  cotton,  work  cotton,  study  cotton, 
dream  cotton.  If  you  see  a  Central  Asian's  face  clouded, 
you  may  be  certain  that  the  sky  is  clouded,  for  there  is 
nothing  that  he  fears  more  than  rain  in  the  summer 
months— rain  is  the  enemy  of  cotton. 

Even  the  struggle  with  the  counter-revolutionary  Bas- 
machi,  until  recently  of  intense  concern  to  the  people  of 
Central  Asia,  has  now  receded  to  a  place  of  secondary  im- 
portance. And  the  attention  that  is  still  given  to  the 
Basmach  movement  is  primarily  due  to  the  possible  effect 
it  may  ultimately  have  on  the  cotton  crop. 

Considerably  more  than  fifty  per  cent  of  the  agricultural 
produce  of  Uzbekistan  and  Tadjikistan  is  cotton.  The 
major  part  of  the  local  industries  is  in  some  way  connected 
with  cotton.  It  must  not  be  thought,  however,  that  this 
consecration  to  the  growing  of  cotton  is  true  only  of  these 
Republics.  It  is  true  of  the  whole  of  Central  Asia.  The 
cotton  campaign  in  these  countries  is  part  of  a  larger  plan 
embracing  also  the  territories  of  Turkmenistan,  Kazak- 

169 


170  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

stan,  Transcaucasia,  and  even  the  Southern  section  of  the 
Ukraine. 

I  have  before  me  a  pile  of  Central  Asian  papers  for  the 
year  1931.  Nearly  every  headline  and  every  editorial  deals 
with  cotton.  I  pick  at  random  a  few  papers,  arrange  them 
in  chronological  sequence,  and  the  whole  struggle  for  cot- 
ton unfolds  before  me.  Here  is  a  paper  dated  June  i6th. 
June  is  the  month  of  weeding,  hilling  and  digging.  Accord- 
ingly, a  huge  headline  streaming  across  five  columns 
announces:  "The  Comsomol  Is  the  Trusty  Sentinel  of  the 
Bolshevik  Cotton  Harvest."  Immediately  below  this  head- 
line, in  smaller  type:  "Youth,  form  into  detachments  and 
regiments  and  join  the  weeding  campaign,  place  guards 
and  supervisors  over  each  canal,  be  the  foremost  fighter 
and  commander  in  the  struggle  for  a  bumper  cotton  crop." 
And  then:  "Time  is  short.  The  harvest  is  in  danger.  All 
forces  must  concentrate  on  the  cotton  fields!"  Among  the 
other  items  on  the  front  page:  "Failure  to  appreciate  the 
importance  of  scientific  research  in  cotton  hampers  the  cot- 
ton campaign."  "Destroy  the  winged  enemy— the  locust." 
"More  attention  to  our  cotton  sovkhozy  (state  farms)!" 
Needless  to  say,  the  two-column  editorial  is  also  devoted 
to  cotton. 

On  July  7th— a  similar  picture:  "The  Cotton  Plan  in 
Danger."  "Our  Collectives  Show  the  Best  Results." 
"Shakhrinoy  Is  Disgracefully  Slow."  "Banner  Handed  to 
Heroes  of  Bolshevik  Spring."  "Cotton  Independence  for 
the  Soviet  Union." 

August  igth:  In  August  cultivation  continues  but  prep- 
arations must  be  made  for  picking,  transporting,  and 
storing  the  cotton.  Naturally  the  front  pages  reflect  this: 
"Not  All  the  Links  Are  Ready  for  the  Strain  of  the  Cotton 
Harvest  Campaign."  "No  Preparation  for  the  Cotton 
Harvest  at  the  Vakhsh."  "Kanibadom  Leads  in  Making 
Ready  for  the  Cotton  Harvest."  "Railroads  Have  No 
Cotton  Transport  Plan." 

September  5th:  Gathering  in  of  the  harvest  has  begun. 
The  paper  is  hysterical.  "Within  two  days  everything  must 
be  mobilized  for  cotton  harvest— labor,  government  and 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  17 1 

party  machine,  store-houses  and  transport."  "The  Cotton 
Plan  of  the  Third  Decisive  Year  of  the  Piatiletka  Must  Be 
Fulfilled!"  "Show  Bolshevik  Tempo!"  "To-day,  at  the 
Home  of  the  Red  Army  to  Discuss  Problems  of  Cotton 
Harvest."  "The  Planters  of  Aral  Adopt  a  New  Cotton- 
Picking  System." 

October  2oth:  Autumn  rains  are  approaching.  Haste. 
Haste.  A  screaming  headline  across  the  entire  page: 
"Throw  the  Entire  Abie-Bodied  Population  into  the 
Cotton  Fields."  "Six  Districts  Are  Still  on  the  Black  List." 
"Women  in  the  Collective  Farms  Are  Forming  Shock 
Brigades."  "The  Creeping  Pace  Must  Come  to  an  End!" 
"The  Manager  of  the  State  Cotton  Farm  at  Regar  must 
Be  Thrown  Out." 

November  i8th:  "The  Struggle  for  Cotton  Is  a  Struggle 
for  Socialism."  "End  the  Slow,  Irresponsible,  Lackadaisical 
Work  at  the  Cotton  Mills."  "More  Shock-Brigades  and 
Socialist  Competition  in  Our  Struggle  for  the  Cotton 
Plan."  "Individual  Responsibility  for  Failure  To  Join  in 
the  Cotton-Picking  Campaign."  "Agronomist  Dolgov  Is  a 
Deserter." 

Except  for  the  various  political,  international  and  cul- 
tural items  in  the  inside  pages,  the  newspapers,  with  all 
their  graphs,  figures,  calculations,  and  screaming  front 
page  headlines  which  daily  record  achievements,  losses, 
and  prospects  on  the  cotton  front,  appear  like  a  queer 
combination  of  trade  papers  and  war  bulletins. 

Though  tremendously  stimulated  by  the  Soviet  Govern- 
ment, the  Central  Asian's  interest  in  cotton  is  not  new. 
Cotton  of  inferior  sorts  has  been  grown  here  for  centuries. 
One  of  the  chief  incentives  of  the  czars  for  extending  their 
imperial  power  to  remote  Central  Asia  was  the  determina- 
tion to  obtain  cotton  for  Russia.  Most  of  the  Russian  col- 
onizers of  Central  Asia  were  people  who  in  some  direct 
or  indirect  way  were  connected  with  cotton.  Central  Asian 
cotton  was  the  basis  of  the  rapid  growth  of  the  textile 
industries  in  the  Northern  capitals,  and  the  source  of 
immense  private  fortunes  in  Russia. 

After  1914,  Russia's  hunger  for  cotton  increased  a  hun- 


172  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

dredfold.  Years  of  war  and  revolution  left  millions  of  peo- 
ple without  wearing  apparel.  Old  clothes  were  worn  to 
shreds,  and  nothing  new  was  being  produced.  Imports  had 
been  reduced  to  zero.  And  when  trading  with  the  outside 
world  was  resumed,  comparatively  little  gold  could  be 
spared  for  the  purchase  of  clothes.  The  Soviet  Union  was 
determined  to  build  up  its  industries,  and  it  spent  the 
lion's  share  of  its  revenues  on  production  rather  than  con- 
sumption goods.  Moreover,  the  revolution  aroused  appe- 
tites. The  workers  and  peasants  of  Soviet  Russia  began  to 
clamor  for  textiles  more  loudly  than  they  would  have 
clamored  if  they  had  suffered  similar  privations  under  the 
old  regime.  Again,  in  the  midst  of  an  antagonistic  world, 
the  Soviet  Union  needed  an  adequate  and  uninterrupted 
cotton  supply,  for  in  the  event  of  war  Russia  without  cot- 
ton would  be  helpless.  Small  wonder  that  the  Soviet 
Union  cherishes  the  ambitious  hope  of  achieving  complete 
independence  of  the  cotton  markets  of  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Small  wonder,  too,  that  it  puts  no  end  of  study  and 
planning  and  money  into  cotton.  It  endeavors  to  extend 
the  cotton  area  through  vast  irrigation  and  reclamation 
projects,  it  induces  cotton-growing  by  lowering  taxes  on 
cotton  lands,  by  granting  the  cotton  grower  special  credits 
for  seed  and  implements  and  family  maintenance,  by  sell- 
ing him  bread  grains  below  wholesale  cost,  by  building 
machine  and  tractor  stations,  by  building  vast  government- 
owned  cotton  plantations,  by  encouraging  cotton  growers' 
cooperatives  and  collectives,  and  so  on  without  end. 


White  Plague 

But  just  as  the  Soviet  Government  is  intent  on  acceler- 
ating the  development  of  cotton,  so  are  its  enemies  set  on 
retarding  it.  The  reader  will  recall  the  famous  Industrial 
Party  trial  held  in  Moscow  in  the  winter  of  1930.  He  will 
recall  that  one  of  the  crucial  points  in  the  strategy  of  those 
experts,  engineers,  professors,  and  economists  was  to  wreck 
the  cotton  industry  of  the  Soviet  Union.  The  kulaks  and 


COMPLETING    BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  173 

the  beys  fought  cotton  in  the  villages.  The  engineers 
fought  it  in  their  offices,  concocting  absurd  irrigation, 
reclamation,  and  electrification  schemes.  The  experts,  the 
professors  fought  it  in  the  State  Planning  Commission,  in 
the  universities,  and  in  the  learned  journals.  For  years 
there  raged  a  ruthless  war  on  the  cotton  front,  war  with  all 
its  concomitant  evils— treason,  espionage,  sabotage,  subtle 
ideological  camouflage.  Read  such  books  and  articles  as 
Cotton  Cultivation  in  Turkestan  by  V.  I.  Uferev,  or  Agri- 
cultural Economy  by  N.  M.  Kozhanov,  or  The  Hungry 
Steppe  As  a  Cotton  Region  by  Yaroshevitch,  or  The 
Technique  of  Cotton  Cultivation  by  S.  Grigoriev,  and 
finally  Cotton  as  a  Monoculture  by  A.  A.  Fedotov— what 
a  remarkable  melange  of  insincerity,  ambiguity,  innuendo, 
false  reasoning,  misinformation  and  cant,  all  dished  out 
in  a  sauce  of  scientific  objectivity! 

Here  is  citizen  Fedotov,  the  gray-headed,  dignified  gen- 
tleman who  shed  bitter  tears  on  the  trial  stand  entreating 
the  proletarian  court  for  mercy,  for  a  chance  to  live  and 
atone  his  sins.  In  1925  when  he  was  still  considered  one 
of  the  leading  cotton  experts  in  the  Union  and  was  hon- 
ored and  trusted  by  the  workers'  government,  the  same 
gentleman,  in  an  effort  to  cool  the  Bolsheviks'  zeal  for 
cotton,  wrote: 

"The  beautiful  sunny  South  of  the  United  States  suffers 
from  the  white  plague.  This  is  a  well-established  fact  in- 
volving the  whole  population  of  the  South,  a  region  pre- 
dominantly agricultural.  Indeed,  cotton,  instead  of  being 
a  blessing,  has  now  become  a  curse;  it  certainly  has  re- 
duced the  people's  vitality,  and  every  one  in  that  region, 
old  and  young,  has  become  the  slave  of  cotton. . . .  Cotton- 
growing  has  brought  about  the  pauperization  of  the  agri- 
cultural population,  it  has  aggravated  the  race  problem, 
it  has  exhausted  the  best  soil  in  America,  it  has  increased 
the  number  of  tenant  farmers  and  reduced  the  number 
of  farm  proprietors,  and,  also,  it  has  led  to  perennial 
clashes  between  the  creditors  and  the  soil-tillers.  That  is 
not  all— we  should  add  spiritual  impoverishment.  Cotton- 
growing  limits  one's  interests,  limits  one's  agricultural 


174  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

technique,  cramps  one's  spiritual  growth;  it  renders  one 

narrow,  helpless;  it  makes  one  a  slave " 

Not  a  word  about  the  surviving  feudalism,  the  cotton 
plantations,  the  share-cropping  system,  the  virtual  dis- 
franchisement  of  Negroes  in  our  South.  Not  a  word  about 
capitalism  and  its  concomitant  evils.  Fedotov  attributes 
all  the  real  and  imaginary  evils  in  our  South  to  cotton- 
cotton  is  a  white  plague!  But  Fedotov  would  not  rely  on 
mere  suggestion.  He  must  clinch  his  argument.  He  must 
underscore  the  lesson: 

"The  picture  I  have  drawn  has  meaning  also  for  us. . . . 
In  our  Union,  the  cotton-grower,  however  impoverished 
he  may  become,  can  still  hope  to  retain  the  right  to  his 
land;  but  all  the  other  evils  attendant  on  cotton  are  quite 

liable  to  occur  here  too In  Turkestan  cotton-growing 

has  been  progressing  by  leaps  and  bounds.  We  are  justly 
proud  of  our  achievements  when  we  speak  of  cotton.  But 
should  we  have  as  much  reason  to  be  proud  were  we  to 
examine  the  situation  from  another  point  of  view,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  well-being  of  the  cotton  grower? 
Since  1921  cotton  production  in  our  Union  has  increased 
ten-fold.  It  is  reasonable  to  inquire— has  the  condition  of 
the  cotton  grower  become  ten  times  better  than  before? 
Of  course  not. . . ." 

Similar  "subtle"  anti-cotton  propaganda  is  found  in  the 
other  "expert"  studies.  When,  in  its  fight  for  cotton,  the 
Soviet  Government  began  to  introduce  modern  machinery 
into  Central  Asia,  the  publishing  houses  were  deluged 
with  "scientific"  monographs  proving  that  cotton-growing 
was  incompatible  with  modern  machinery.  "Agriculture," 
wrote  one  of  these  authorities— N.  M.  Kozhanov— "contains 
a  stable,  conservative  kernel  which  can  never  be  ground 
under  the  wheels  of  an  advancing  machine  technique— 
this  holds  particularly  true  of  an  intensive  culture,  such 
as  cotton." 

Another  flood  of  learned  treatises  was  let  loose  upon  an 
unsuspecting  reading  public,  when  the  Soviets,  further  to 
accelerate  their  march  toward  cotton  independence,  started 
to  build  and  encourage  State  and  collective  cotton  farms. 


COMPLETING    BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  175 

Figures  were  worked  out,  graphs  drawn,  examples  adduced 
—all  tending  to  prove  that  cotton  could  be  successfully 
cultivated  only  on  the  basis  of  small-scale  farming. 

So  powerful  and  all-pervading  were  these  ideological 
saboteurs  that  even  the  Five  Year  Plan,  particularly  the 
first  draft,  bore  unmistakable  traces  of  their  influence. 


For  Cotton— For  Socialism! 

It  has  always  been  a  source  of  wonderment  to  me  how 
the  Soviet  Government,  in  face  of  the  concerted  opposition 
and  constant  sabotage  of  the  leading  cotton  experts,  has 
managed  to  advance  so  rapidly  toward  cotton  independ- 
ence. 

While  at  Tashkent,  I  had  had  occasion  to  acquaint  my- 
self with  the  activities  of  the  Central  Asian  Bureau,  a  pow- 
erful organization  whose  function  it  is  to  plan  and  coor- 
dinate the  economic  and  cultural  activities  which  are  of 
common  interest  to  all  the  Central  Asian  Republics- 
water,  cotton,  transportation,  silk,  coal,  grain,  health. 
Every  phase  of  the  work  is  directed  by  a  special  commit- 
tee. The  cotton  committee  is  the  most  important  of  all, 
being  one  of  the  largest  and  most  modern  business  organi- 
zations in  the  world.  Functioning  in  many  ways  like  any 
capitalistic  business  enterprise,  its  distinguishing  feature 
is  the  fact  that  it  is  Soviet  owned.  As  the  cotton  monopoly 
of  the  Soviet  Government,  the  Committee  wields  tremen- 
dous influence  and  power.  It  contracts  for  all  the  cotton 
grown  in  Central  Asia;  it  owns  and  controls  all  the  cotton- 
ginning  plants  and  cottonseed  oil  factories  in  the  region. 
It  has  its  own  scientific  research  stations,  where  methods  of 
irrigation,  fertilization,  and  seed  selections  are  studied  and 
on  which  more  than  a  million  dollars  a  year  is  spent. 
It  conducts  its  own  gigantic  farms  where  the  selected  seed 
for  the  peasants  is  produced.  It  has  an  experimental  fac- 
tory for  trying  out  new  machines  and  methods  of  cotton 
manufactures,  cotton-ginning,  etc.  It  has  its  own  large 
plant  for  the  production  of  cotton  gins,  and  its  own  con- 


176  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

struction  department  for  putting  up  new  factories.  It  has 
training  schools  for  cotton  experts,  and  it  teaches  the  peas- 
ants to  grow  cotton  of  a  higher  and  more  standardized 
quality  than  we  are  growing  in  America.  Subject  to  the 
revision  of  the  Economic  Council  of  the  Soviet  Union,  the 
Cotton  Committee,  in  agreement  with  the  growers'  coop- 
eratives, fixes  the  prices  which  the  government,  the  sole 
purchaser  of  cotton  in  the  entire  Union,  pays  to  the  Cen- 
tral Asian  peasants. 

The  several  Central  Asian  Republics,  working  hand  in 
hand  with  the  Cotton  Committee,  carry  on  a  ceaseless 
barrage  of  cotton  propaganda.  As  a  result  of  this  propa- 
ganda and  of  the  numerous  measures  calculated  to  stimu- 
late cotton-growing,  the  Soviet  Union  can  show  the  fol- 
lowing figures:  In  1924  the  whole  cotton  area  in  the 
Soviet  Union  measured  447,000  hectares;  in  1925,  591,000; 
in  1926,  654,000;  in  1927,  765,000;  in  1928,  925,000;  in 
1929,  1,055,000;  in  1930,  1,632,000.  In  1931  the  plan  was 
to  exceed  the  2  million  mark,  and  for  1933  to  reach  the 
3  million  mark. 

Every  worker  and  peasant  has  the  slogan  "Cotton  Inde- 
pendence" continually  dinned  into  his  ears.  "The  impe- 
rialists are  raising  barriers  against  our  export  trade.  The 
imperialists  are  trying  to  interfere  with  the  realization  of 
our  Five- Year  Plan.  They  are  arming  to  the  teeth  plot- 
ting another  war  against  our  Socialist  Fatherland.  Our 
answer  is:  'Cotton  Independence!'  " 

There  are  other  reasons.  The  sowing  and  picking  of 
cotton,  as  well  as  the  steady  attention  it  requires  through- 
out the  entire  summer,  make  cotton  culture  an  excellent 
absorbent  of  labor  power.  A  ton  of  raw  cotton  probably 
represents  more  human  labor  power  than  a  ton  of  any 
other  farm  product.  Clearly,  in  Central  Asia,  with  its  great 
scarcity  of  land,  cotton  planting  offers  the  most  economical 
way  of  utilizing  a  possible  labor  surplus. 

Another  consideration  is  the  economic  benefits  resulting 
from  what  may  be  termed  "regional  specialization,"  i.e., 
regions  that  are  most  adapted  to  the  growing  of  a  certain 
product  must  specialize  in  that  product,  duplication  must 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  177 

be  eliminated— this  is  rational  and  economical.  The  Turk- 
sib  and  the  Termez-Stalinabad  railroads  have  been  built 
to  facilitate  the  exchange  of  commodities— grain  and  lum- 
ber to  flow  into  Central  Asia  from  Siberia  and  Central 
Russia;  cotton  to  travel  from  the  South  to  the  grain 
regions  in  the  North. 

Not  only  is  such  territorial  specialization  economical 
and  rational— it  is  also  highly  politic.  It  makes  the  several 
National  Republics  economically  interdependent  and  ren- 
ders less  likely  any  excessive  tendencies  toward  local  na- 
tionalism which  may  degenerate  into  chauvinism  and  even 
into  separatism. 

Furthermore,  a  considerable  increase  in  the  cultivation 
of  cotton  in  Central  Asia  creates  an  economic  base  for 
industrializing  a  heretofore  purely  agricultural  region. 
This,  from  the  communist's  viewpoint,  is  exceedingly  de- 
sirable. An  increase  in  the  number  of  native  proletarians 
brings  the  communist  dream  closer  to  realization.  That 
that  is  so,  can  be  gathered  from  the  decision  of  the  Com- 
munist Party  in  the  Soviet  Union  henceforth  to  build 
textile  factories  only  in  cotton-growing  regions. 

Then  again,  territorial  specialization  makes  not  only 
for  national  interdependence,  but  also  for  class  inter- 
dependence, thus  welding  the  Union  horizontally  as  well 
as  vertically.  When  the  peasant,  together  with  his  patch 
of  cotton,  raises  enough  grain  and  vegetables  to  supply  his 
personal  needs,  he  is  more  or  less  immune  to  proletarian 
influence.  He  is,  relatively  speaking,  lord  in  his  own  do- 
main. Specialization  entails  dependence  on  the  market. 
And  since  in  the  Soviet  Union  the  market  is  completely 
controlled  by  the  Workers'  government,  crop  specializa- 
tion means  greater  dependence  of  the  peasant  on  the 
proletariat  and  vice  versa. 

In  view  of  all  this,  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that 
cotton  is  the  magic  key  to  the  maze  of  economic,  political, 
and  cultural  inroads  the  Bolsheviks  have  made  into  the 
age-long  immutability  of  Central  Asian  existence.  I  do  not 
wish  to  simplify  unduly.  In  the  final  analysis,  the  Bol- 
sheviks are  more  interested  in  socialism  than  in  cotton. 


178  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

But  in  the  conditions  of  Central  Asia,  cotton  is  the  natural 
medium  through  which  the  Bolshevik  ideal  can  be  real- 
ized. It  is  indeed  highly  significant  that  For  Cotton— For 
Socialism  is  the  title  of  a  book  written  by  one  of  the  lead- 
ing communists  in  Central  Asia.  "For  Cotton— For  Social- 
ism"—this  is  the  underlying  motive  of  nearly  every  act  and 
measure  of  the  local  government.  This  phrase  must  be 
held  in  mind  with  especial  vividness  when  we  come  to 
discuss  the  sweeping  agricultural  revolution  which  resulted 
from  the  great  Land  and  Water  Reform  and  the  Collec- 
tivization Campaign  that  have  shaken  Central  Asia  during 
the  last  ten  years. 


LAND  AND  WATER 

...And  we  only  received  in  reward 

The  master's  hard  blows  with  the  knout. 

But  here  now,  to-day,  look,  my  comrade, 

Our  great  happiness  overflows. 

For  the  best  of  the  country's  sweet  waters 

And  the  soil  now  to  us  have  returned. 

— ALI  TOKOMBAIEV,  Kirghiz  Poet. 


THE  land  and  water  situation  in  Central  Asia  was  long 
in  crying  need  of  reform.  Harrowed  by  civil  war  and 
the  Basmachi,  the  local  Soviet  authorities  could  do  little 
more  than  express  their  good  intentions  by  pious  resolu- 
tions and  sweeping  decrees  adopted  annually  and  depos- 
ited in  the  archives.  Between  the  years  1918  and  1925, 
every  conference,  every  Soviet  and  Party  Congress  in  Cen- 
tral Asia  stressed  the  immediate  importance  of  basic  land 
and  water  reforms.  But  lacking  an  adequate  administra- 
tive apparatus,  particularly  in  the  villages,  the  Soviets  were 
unable  to  carry  most  of  these  measures  into  effect. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  impossible  to  create  a  strong 
net  of  rural  Soviets  in  face  of  the  persisting  old  economic 
and  social  relations  in  the  villages.  The  agrarian  revolu- 
tion which  in  Russia  had  taken  place  simultaneously  with 
the  political  revolution,  was  slow  in  developing  here.  By 
1925  the  beys  were  still  in  the  saddle.  They  still  held  their 
lands,  and  their  influence,  though  slightly  shaken,  was  still 
extensive.  The  agricultural  workers  and  the  tenant  farm- 
ers depended  on  them  for  a  chance  to  earn  a  livelihood 
and  for  loans,  at  usurious  interest.  Owing  to  their  influ- 
ence and  power,  the  beys  managed  to  insinuate  themselves 
everywhere.  The  village  Soviets  and  the  peasant  unions 

179 


l8o  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

were  honeycombed  with  them  and  their  henchmen.  I 
knew  of  an  Uzbek  Soviet  that  was  entirely  made  up  of 
beys,  mullahs,  and  their  followers.  This  was  not  by  any 
means  an  isolated  case.  Poor  and  even  middle  peasants 
were  not  admitted  into  the  organization.  When  a  "cleans- 
ing" was  instituted,  it  was  discovered  that  among  the  122 
members  there  was  not  one  poor  peasant.  The  soviet  was 
disbanded,  and  a  new  unit  consisting  of  750  poor  and 
middle  peasants  was  organized  in  its  stead.  The  beys  even 
managed  to  worm  themselves  into  the  village  Party  nuclei. 
In  the  Samarkand  and  Tashkent  districts  numerous  Party 
nuclei  dominated  by  beys  consistently  sabotaged  every 
progressive  land  measure. 

The  hope  of  the  government  and  the  Party  lay  with  the 
poor  and  middle  peasants.  The  only  way  to  create  a  solid 
soviet  apparatus  was  to  have  the  village  organizations  un- 
der the  complete  control  of  those  who  represented  the 
poor  and  exploited  sections  of  the  village  population.  The 
poor  peasant  had  to  be  activized.  The  middle  peasant  had 
to  be  won  over  or  at  least  neutralized.  A  situation  had  to 
be  created  whereby  the  agricultural  workers,  the  tenant 
farmers,  and  the  less  prosperous  middle  peasants  could  be 
aroused  to  aggressive  action  against  the  beys.  This  would 
create  for  the  Soviets  a  firm  social  base  in  the  villages. 
Sharpening  class  conflict  and  ruthless  revolutionary  actions 
would  purge  the  village  organizations  of  class  enemies  and 
saboteurs.  The  peasants  were  tired  of  fighting.  Fine  words 
and  ringing  promises  could  not  move  them  to  action. 
Something  definite,  tangible  had  to  be  offered.  The  poor 
peasant  had  to  be  convinced  that  the  Soviet  government 
really  meant  to  improve  his  lot— to  give  him  land,  to  give 
him  water,  to  give  him  stock,  to  give  him  credit.  If  to 
achieve  this  the  bey  had  to  be  expropriated,  the  poor  peas- 
ant would  scarcely  object  to  that.  For  centuries  he  had 
been  hungry  for  land  and  thirsty  for  water,  and  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  squeamish  as  to  the  manner  of  quench- 
ing his  ancient  hunger  and  thirst.  Would  the  bey  fight? 
So  much  the  worse  for  the  bey.  Would  the  mullah  ful- 
minate? So  much  the  worse  for  the  mullah. 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  l8l 

I  recall  a  characteristic  story  told  me  by  Ikramov.  He 
was  at  a  meeting  of  poor  peasants  in  a  village  in  the  Tash- 
kent district.  Someone  came  and  reported  that  the  local 
bey  and  his  family,  when  notified  that  97  acres  of  their 
land  and  a  part  of  their  live  stock  and  agricultural  imple- 
ments were  to  be  confiscated,  started  an  awful  hullabaloo, 
crying,  tearing  their  hair,  cursing.  Upon  hearing  the  re- 
port, the  peasants  burst  into  laughter;  one  shouted:  "We 
and  our  fathers  cried  for  decades  because  we  had  no  land; 
it  won't  harm  the  bey  if  he  cries  one  day." 

Thus  the  urgent  need  for  strengthening  Soviet  author- 
ity in  the  village  was  one  consideration  that  made  the  land 
and  water  reform  in  Central  Asia  imperative.  Another 
consideration,  no  less  cogent,  was  the  pressing  necessity  of 
increasing  the  productive  forces  of  the  country.  Antiquated 
implements,  obsolete  methods,  wasteful  handling  of  land 
and  water  resources,  frightfully  low  efficiency— all  these 
evils  could  not  be  remedied  without  a  veritable  agricul- 
tural revolution.  In  many  localities,  for  instance,  theie  still 
existed  the  old  custom  of  annual  land  redistribution,  a 
custom  that  precluded  sound  planning  and  rational  man- 
agement, and  resulted  in  the  temporary  owner's  barbarous 
abuse  and  neglect  of  the  soil.  Where,  as  a  result  of  land 
shortages,  communal  ownership  existed,  the  lands  were 
used  in  annual  rotation  by  different  parts  of  the  com- 
munes. Each  year  one  part  worked  and  received  the  prod- 
uct of  its  work,  while  the  other  parts  loafed  and  received 
nothing.  In  communes  where  the  land  was  distributed 
among  individual  families,  there  were  innumerable  cases 
of  families  owning  five  or  six  different  strips  of  land  scat- 
tered through  various  sections  of  the  communal  posses- 
sions. As  a  result,  the  remote  strips  often  would  not  be 
cultivated  at  all. 

The  utilization  of  the  limited  water  supply  was  also 
highly  irrational,  the  water  having  been  in  many  cases  dis- 
tributed on  the  basis  of  ancient  tribal  and  clan  arrange- 
ments. In  the  course  of  time  some  tribes  had  increased 
while  others  had  declined,  but  the  amount  of  water 
granted  to  each  remained  unchanged.  Thus  it  often  hap- 


l82  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

pened  that  small  tribes  had  much  more  water  than  large 
tribes.  Similar  incongruities  existed  within  the  individual 
tribes.  In  some  instances  clans  of  one  hundred  families 
got  as  much  water  as  those  counting  one  thousand  fam- 
ilies. Some  tribes  and  clans  had  too  much  water,  others 
did  not  have  enough.  But  this  was  not  all.  In  many  locali- 
ties, married  men  were  entitled  to  a  greater  share  of  the 
water  supply.  Accordingly,  fathers  hastened  to  buy  wives 
for  their  sons.  And  since  buying  a  wife  was  an  expensive 
proposition,  it  was  the  richer  peasants  and  the  beys  who 
could  afford  to  purchase  wives  for  all  their  sons,  including 
the  infants.  The  poor  peasants  could  rarely  obtain  wives 
even  for  their  mature  sons.  Among  the  latter,  protracted 
bachelorhood  was  the  usual  thing.  They  had  to  hire  them- 
selves out  for  years  in  an  effort  to  accumulate  a  sum  large 
enough  to  pay  for  a  spouse. 

Inequitable  and  irrational  distribution  of  water  and 
land  was  largely,  though  not  solely  or  even  mainly,  respon- 
sible for  the  evils  besetting  Central  Asian  agriculture.  The 
main  cause,  it  seems,  was  the  general  shortage  of  good, 
irrigated,  arable  land.  The  official  speeches  and  documents 
of  the  period  indicate  that  the  Soviet  authorities  had 
known  long  before  the  launching  of  the  reform  that  mere 
confiscation  of  the  beys'  lands  would  not  half  satisfy  the 
needs  of  the  poor  peasantry.  They  had  seen  from  the  very 
outset  that  besides  a  more  equitable  distribution  of  the 
existing  lands,  waters  and  stocks,  the  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem ultimately  lay  in  a  vast  extension  of  cultivable  areas. 
Indeed,  there  had  been  some  who  felt  that  the  energy  and 
funds  expended  in  fighting  beys  and  confiscating  their  old 
lands  might  be  more  advantageously  utilized  in  obtaining 
new  lands.  These  objections,  however,  were  quickly  dis- 
missed when  the  proponents  of  the  official  plan  pointed 
out  that  far-reaching  irrigation,  reclamation,  and  ameliora- 
tion projects  could  scarcely  be  carried  out  without  the 
sympathetic  cooperation  and  the  actual  physical  labor  of 
the  native  peasantry,  and  that  confiscation  of  the  beys' 
lands  and  abolition  of  some  of  the  outmoded  customs  per- 
taining to  land  and  water  were  to  be  regarded  simply  as 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  183 

the  initial  steps  in  the  agrarian  reforms.  In  the  words  of  a 
local  Bolshevik,  "It  would  have  been  impossible  to  rouse 
the  village  masses,  especially  the  landless  peasants,  to  strug- 
gle for  the  development  of  new  lands  at  a  time  when  they 
beheld  available  lands  still  in  the  possession  of  the  rich, 
the  usurers,  the  landlords,  the  beys.  It  was  absolutely  essen- 
tial that  the  peasants,  the  poorer  peasants,  should  be  thor- 
oughly convinced  that  we  were  actually  trying  to  free  them 
from  serfdom.  And  to  protect  them  from  the  beys  it  was 
absolutely  essential  for  us  that  the  poor  peasants  them- 
selves take  active  part  in  carrying  out  the  reforms,  in  con- 
fiscating and  distributing  the  lands.  Only  then,  only  after 
the  reform  had  been  accomplished  and  the  great  necessity 
for  extending  the  arable  lands  had  become  apparent, 
would  it  be  possible  for  the  government  to  enlist  the  col- 
laboration of  the  village  masses  in  large  reclamation  and 
irrigation  projects." 

The  Soviet  authorities  regarded  the  seizure  and  division 
of  the  beys'  property  as  a  means  to  a  greater  end,  as  a  step 
the  political  effects  of  which  were  expected  immeasurably 
to  outweigh  the  economic  ones.  Here  exceeding  caution 
was  required.  Glowing  promises  of  an  economic  paradise 
would  have  resulted  in  sanguine  expectations  which, 
owing  to  the  shortage  of  lands,  might  have  ultimately 
redounded  against  the  promisors.  The  delicate  balance 
between  promising  enough  to  arouse  enthusiasm  yet  not 
so  much  as  to  entail  disappointment  was  deliberately 
maintained.  In  this  affair  the  Government  played  inter- 
mittently the  role  of  incendiary  and  that  of  fireman,  now 
setting  passions  aflame,  now  turning  a  hose  of  cold  water 
upon  them. 


Art  and  Propaganda 

The  Land  and  Water  Reform  in  Uzbekistan  was  noth- 
ing less  than  an  agrarian  revolution,  a  change  incompara- 
bly more  fundamental  than  anything  the  Bolsheviks  had 
heretofore  attempted  in  the  one-time  Emirate  of  Bokhara. 


184  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

The  method  which  the  Party  and  the  government  em- 
ployed in  carrying  out  the  land  reform  offers  a  classical 
illustration  of  the  workings  of  the  Soviet  system:  Perfect 
control  from  the  top  combined  with  colossal  initiative 
from  the  bottom.  The  Party,  the  entire  Soviet  apparatus, 
and  the  vast  peasant  masses  were  mobilized  for  the  great 
task. 

The  campaign  technique,  evolved  by  the  Bolsheviks  in 
Russia  and  avidly  taken  over  by  the  countries  on  the 
periphery,  is  simple  and  effective.  The  impulse  for  any 
economic,  political  or  cultural  campaign  usually  comes 
from  the  top,  though  not  infrequently  the  first  vague  de- 
mands for  it  emanate  from  the  bottom.  When  a  campaign 
is  decided  upon,  its  underlying  ideas  and  method  of  pro- 
cedure are  thoroughly  thrashed  out  at  Party  meetings, 
Soviet  meetings,  Young  Communist  gatherings,  etc.  Since 
almost  every  form  of  activity  in  the  Soviet  Union  is  or- 
ganized, and  since  it  is  the  policy  of  the  Party  to  have  a 
Party  nucleus  in  every  organization,  it  is  obvious  that  once 
a  campaign  is  launched,  it  is  the  duty  of  each  Party  nucleus 
to  popularize  the  objectives  of  the  campaign  in  the  organi- 
zation in  which  it  works.  Accordingly,  in  each  factory, 
office,  school,  village,  newspaper,  and  theater,  meetings 
are  called,  reports  made,  suggestions  and  criticisms  called 
for,  cooperation  solicited.  Good  suggestions  are  immedi- 
ately communicated  to  the  directing  staff  and  often  fitted 
into  the  general  plan.  In  this  way  the  mass  is  drawn  into 
the  work.  When  the  work  is  well  done,  the  mass  is  made 
to  feel  that  it,  rather  than  the  Party  leadership,  is  the  ini- 
tiator of  the  campaign.  At  all  times  a  good  campaign 
implies  complete  cooperation  between  the  leadership  and 
the  mass. 

The  first  step  after  the  idea  of  the  reform  had  been  ac- 
cepted was  a  tremendous  propaganda  campaign.  The 
country  was  covered  with  placards,  printed  slogans,  leaflets 
and  popularly  written  pamphlets  explaining  the  proposed 
measures.  More  effective  even  was  the  use  of  the  spoken 
word.  Hundreds  of  specially  trained  speakers  were  thrown 
into  the  villages.  Students  from  the  universities,  Young 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  185 

Communists,  Pioneers,  were  mobilized  for  the  purpose. 
Dozens  of  "agitation  trucks"  decorated  with  posters  and 
slogans  and  carrying  a  native  orchestra,  native  singers  and 
agitators  dashed  along  the  country  roads,  stopping  at  fairs, 
before  Chai-Khanahs,  before  mosques,  organizing  meetings, 
explaining,  answering  questions,  arousing  the  population. 
Amateur  theatrical  companies,  hastily  brought  together 
for  the  purpose,  went  from  village  to  village  presenting 
a  primitive  propaganda  playlet,  "The  Bey  on  Trial."  Soon, 
too,  the  Uzbek-kino  released  special  moving  pictures  pre- 
pared for  the  occasion.  Within  a  couple  of  months  the 
Land  and  Water  Reform  was  on  every  tongue. 

While  the  propaganda  campaign  was  at  its  height, 
preparations  were  made  to  organize  an  efficient  adminis- 
trative machine  for  putting  the  reform  into  effect.  It  was 
a  gigantic  task.  For  instance,  to  carry  out  the  reform  in  a 
strictly  scientific  manner,  Fergana  alone  would  have  re- 
quired about  1,500  surveyors.  I  don't  know  how  many 
thousands  of  surveyors  would  have  been  needed  for  the 
whole  of  Uzbekistan.  But  since  the  reform  had  to  be  in- 
stituted immediately,  surveyors  were  out  of  the  question; 
the  inadequate  information  supplied  by  the  local  peasants 
had  to  be  relied  on.  Similar  difficulties  sprang  up  at  every 
step. 

As  the  plan  finally  crystallized,  the  administrative  ap- 
paratus was  to  be  composed  of  specially  appointed  central, 
regional,  and  local  commissions,  with  members  selected 
from  the  best  workers  in  the  Party  and  in  other  economic 
and  labor  union  organizations,  and  subjected  to  an  inten- 
sive course  of  preliminary  training.  The  appointed  com- 
missions were  to  work  hand  in  hand  in  each  village  with 
"Commissions  of  Peasant  Cooperation,"  consisting  of  from 
ten  to  fifteen  members  elected  by  the  general  assembly  of 
all  the  local  middle,  poor,  and  tenant  peasants. 

Service  on  the  Peasant  Commissions  was  to  be  volun- 
tary, involving  no  remuneration;  the  duties  were  manifold 
—examining  itemized  property  lists  filled  out  by  beys, 
tenant  farmers,  agricultural  laborers,  middle  peasants;  aid- 
ing the  appointed  Commission  to  uncover  undeclared 


l86  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

property,  illegal  transfers,  sales,  temporary  "gifts";  calling 
meetings;  posting  announcements  and  proclamations;  and 
in  general  safeguarding  the  interests  of  the  village  poor 
and  serving  as  a  link  between  the  commissions  and  the 
peasants. 

By  the  time  the  appointed  and  elected  commissions  were 
ready  to  begin  work,  the  various  class  attitudes  toward  the 
momentous  reform  had  become  fully  manifest. 


Poor  Beys 

Needless  to  say,  the  rich  property  owners  were  bitterly 
opposed.  In  their  subterranean  propaganda,  they  resorted 
to  every  possible  misrepresentation  and  calumny.  They 
played  on  the  peasant's  fear  of  the  unknown,  on  his  re- 
ligious prejudices  and  old  loyalties.  They  spread  rumors 
that  "the  land  was  being  confiscated  for  the  purpose  of 
transferring  it  to  the  Soviet  employees,"  or  that  the  land 
was  being  "taken  away  from  the  Uzbeks  to  be  given  to  the 
Russians."  The  middle  peasant  was  told:  "To-day  the 
Soviet  is  seizing  our  lands,  to-morrow  it  will  grab  yours." 
Referring  to  former  land  decrees  which  had  not  been  en- 
forced, the  beys  whispered  that  the  whole  thing  was  a 
hoax,  that  the  "Government  will  toy  for  a  while  with  the 
poor  peasants,  but  the  lands  will  remain  in  the  possession 
of  the  present  owners."  This  argument  had  a  powerful 
effect  on  the  poor  peasants,  who  hesitated  to  reveal  their 
sympathies  with  the  reform  for  fear  that  they  might  later 
be  deprived  of  their  means  of  earning  a  livelihood. 

In  many  cases  the  beys  attempted  to  evade  confiscation 
by  not  declaring  their  full  possessions.  They  tried  every 
possible  trick.  They  hastened  to  cancel  contracts  with  their 
tenants  so  that  they  might  claim  that  they  were  themselves 
engaged  in  working  the  land.  Taking  advantage  of  the 
poor  peasants'  fear,  they  often  introduced  their  tenants 
as  their  sons  or  grandsons.  Some  even  voluntarily  divided 
their  lands  among  their  tenants,  accompanying  the  pro- 
cedure with  a  warning:  "Now  remember,  this  is  not  for 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  187 

long.  Justice  will  triumph  in  the  end,  and  then  woe  to 
those  of  you  who  will  have  made  use  of  my  property." 
Others  divided  their  property  among  their  "toiling"  sons. 
Still  others  managed  to  obtain  signatures  from  local  peas- 
ants testifying  to  the  "fact"  that  they  were  not  beys.  There 
were  some  foolhardy  beys  who  actually  succeeded  in  or- 
ganizing armed  detachments  of  farm  hands  to  "defend 
our  property." 

Bribery,  intrigue,  terror— the  beys  shunned  nothing. 
Not  a  few  Bolsheviks  were  slain  by,  or  at  the  instigation  of, 
the  beys.  This  continued  long  after  the  reform  had  been 
carried  through.  Uzbek  papers  of  that  period  are  filled 
with  weird  tales  of  treachery  and  terror. 

However,  as  the  agitation  for  the  reform  unfolded  and 
its  success  became  assured,  a  number  of  the  more  far- 
sighted  beys  sought  recourse  in  a  more  conciliatory  posi- 
tion. Threatened  with  losing  everything,  they  tried  to 
salvage  something  by  voluntary  renunciation  of  their 
property  rights.  Many  even  feigned  enthusiasm  for  the 
reform,  hoping  thus  to  placate  the  revolutionary  forces 
and  to  get  on  the  right  side  of  the  government.  In  their 
statements  one  meets  with  such  expressions  as  "the  Soviet 
Government  is  to  be  congratulated  on  its  land  reforms 
which  are  destined  to  enhance  the  might  of  the  toiling 
peasantry"  or  "realizing  the  usefulness  of  the  reform,  and 
in  an  effort  to  meet  it  half-way,  I  hereby  voluntarily  sur- 
render all  my  real  property  .  .  ."  or  "...  we  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  further  to  exploit  the  benighted  vil- 
lage peasantry  which  gives  its  last  strength  in  return  for 
a  miserable  one-fourth  of  the  land's  yield  and  lives  in  a 
state  of  semi-starvation,  is  criminal.  We  therefore  gladly 
surrender  our  lands  to  the  Soviet  Government,  a  govern- 
ment that  has  until  now  settled  every  one  of  life's  prob- 
lems in  an  equitable  manner  and  that  will  no  doubt  be 
as  just  in  distributing  our  lands  among  the  poor  peasants." 
Some  of  the  statements  sound  violently  revolutionary; 
one  even  concludes  with  the  slogans,  "Down  with  the  ex- 
ploitation of  peasant  labor!  May  the  toiling  peasant  be 
the  rightful  owner  of  our  land!"  Nor  was  there  a  lack  of 


l88  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

histrionics.  In  the  village  of  Uch-Kurgan,  nine  beys  ap- 
peared before  a  large  peasant  meeting  and  dramatically 
yielded  their  415  desiatins  to  their  tenants.  And  on  the 
eighth  anniversary  of  the  Bolshevik  Revolution  twenty 
rich  beys  in  the  Rishtan  district  publicly  transferred  their 
five  hundred  desiatins  to  the  poor  peasants. 

It  may  be  worth  noting,  though,  that  in  most  cases 
these  "benefactors,"  while  voluntarily  surrendering  to  the 
"toiling  peasants"  such  lands  as  were  either  entirely  unfit 
for  cultivation  or  required  heavy  expenditures,  tried  to 
retain  the  most  fertile  and  best  irrigated  lands  for  them- 
selves. In  many  other  cases  they  were  moved  by  a  desire 
not  to  pay  taxes  on  relatively  worthless  land,  or  by  the 
hope  that  an  ostensibly  magnanimous  gesture  might  blind 
the  authorities  to  the  vast  tracts  of  good  land  they  had 
withheld  for  themselves. 


Poor  Mullahs 

At  one  with  the  beys  was  the  upper  land-owning 
Moslem  clergy.  When  news  of  the  reform  first  appeared, 
the  clergy  got  busy  scanning  the  Koran  and  other  holy 
books  for  passages  that  might  be  appropriately  used  in 
confuting  all  arguments  favoring  the  new  measures.  Bas- 
ing themselves  on  the  Sheriat,  some  mullahs  maintained 
that  "if  the  land  of  one  man  is  taken  from  him  and  given 
to  another,  the  latter  exposes  himself  to  the  wrath  of 
Mohammed  if  he  either  consumes  or  sells  the  products  of 
that  land."  Other  mullahs  proved  by  citations  from  the 
Prophet  that  confiscated  cattle  would  "turn  blind,"  that 
confiscated  land  would  "yield  worms  instead  of  bread" 
and  that  he  who  tilled  such  land  would  be  "cursed  by  God 
himself."  One  mullah  in  agitating  among  his  farm  hands 
and  tenants  resorted  to  this  argument:  "If  Allah  has  not 
given  you  anything,  how  can  you  expect  mere  man  to  give 
you?"  Other  mullahs  appealed  to  the  poor  peasants'  sense 
of  honor:  "How  could  you  bear  feeding  on  robbed  land?" 
And  there  is  a  case  on  record  where  a  group  of  poor  peas- 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  189 

ants  were  so  affected  by  the  appeal  of  an  ishan  that  they 
actually  passed  a  resolution  declaring  that  "they  would 
sooner  die  than  live  on  iniquitously  gotten  land." 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  clergy,  for  all  its  prestige, 
proved  quite  unable  to  convince  the  poor  peasants  that  the 
punishment  that  awaited  them  in  the  world  to  come  would 
outweigh  the  benefits  they  would  derive  in  this  world. 
The  peasants  were  inclined  to  take  their  chances. 

In  fighting  the  ishans  and  the  mullahs,  the  Soviet 
authorities  exercised  extraordinary  care  and  patience,  bid- 
ing their  time,  waiting  for  developments. 

One  vulnerable  spot  in  the  position  of  the  mosque  was 
the  conflict  of  interests  between  the  upper  and  lower 
clergy:  the  first,  rich,  powerful,  and  economically  allied 
with  the  beys;  the  second,  relatively  poor,  weak,  and  eco- 
nomically more  closely  connected  with  the  wretched  peas- 
ant masses.  This  conflict  of  interests  was  taken  advantage 
of  by  the  Bolsheviks;  without  attempting  direct  attacks  on 
the  mosque,  they  proceeded  to  assail  the  reactionary  clergy 
by  exposing  before  the  masses  its  greed  and  selfishness. 

What  made  the  position  of  the  upper  clergy  especially 
vulnerable  was  the  possession  of  much  fertile  land  coveted 
by  the  peasants.  The  land  reform,  crystallizing  as  it  did 
the  conflicting  class  interests  in  the  village,  succeeded  in 
smashing  the  already  shaken  front  of  the  clergy— the  upper 
clergy  siding  with  the  landlords,  the  beys;  the  lower  with 
the  peasants,  the  government.  The  village  mullah  knew 
that  opposition  to  the  reform  meant  the  implacable  hatred 
of  the  land-hungry  masses.  As  to  the  upper  clergy,  its 
intransigence  succeeded  in  almost  irretrievably  alienating 
the  majority  of  the  population. 

Sensing  danger,  and  having  finally  come  to  realize  the 
inevitability  of  the  reform,  the  less  myopic  of  the  upper 
clergy  began  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  The  Soviet  authori- 
ties refrained  from  gloating  or  vindictiveness.  When  the 
recalcitrants  called  upon  the  faithful  to  resist  the  redis- 
tribution of  lands,  a  group  of  prominent  "penitents,"  en- 
couraged by  the  Government,  issued  a  proclamation  in 
favor  of  such  redistribution.  Rather  than  quixotically 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

oppose  religion  and  fight  the  Koran  and  thus  antagonize 
the  masses,  the  Bolsheviks  availed  themselves  of  the  op- 
portunity to  utilize  the  proclamation  issued  by  the  mul- 
lahs. The  document  was  printed  in  the  Bolshevik  press 
and  given  the  widest  publicity.  It  was  long  and  abstruse, 
citing  innumerable  chapters  and  verses  from  the  Koran 
and  other  holy  books,  and  proving  beyond  the  shadow  of 
a  doubt  that,  according  to  Islam,  "the  owner  of  land  must 
himself  till  his  land"  and  that  "if  the  owner  is  himself 
unable  to  do  it,  he  must  renounce  his  land  in  favor  of 
him  who  is  able."  The  concluding  paragraphs  read: 
"Hence,  the  measures  directed  by  the  Soviet  Government 
towards  supplying  the  landless  peasants  with  the  surplus 
lands  (which  it  is  a  sin  to  keep!— Haram)  and  towards 
freeing  the  serf  from  age-long  humiliation  and  bondage- 
such  measures  shall  never  be  unlawful  according  to  the 
Islamic  religion. . . .  On  the  basis  of  the  above  proof,  the 
beys  who  have  many  lands  must  themselves  transfer  their 
property  to  the  landless  peasant.  Should  they  fail  to  sur- 
render their  land,  gotten  through  iniquity  and  deceit,  it 
would  not  be  against  the  law  of  Islam  for  the  government 
to  seize  and  for  the  peasants  to  use  such  lands." 

Like  the  beys,  and  for  the  same  reason,  many  of  the 
rich  clergy  began  to  renounce  their  lands.  The  famous 
ishan  Fakhritdin  Vali-Khodzhaiev  was  among  the  first 
voluntarily  to  surrender  his  vast  land  holdings  and  in  a 
much  hailed  epistle  "blessed"  the  land  reform  and  the 
Soviet  Government.  "In  my  message  of  benediction,"  he 
wrote,  "I  wish  to  point  out  that  the  Government  which 
has  brought  peace  into  our  land  is  satisfying  the  needs 
of  the  poor  and  the  hungry  who  look  to  it  for  support. 
The  Government  has  found  it  necessary  to  distribute  land 
among  the  poor.  Gratified  with  the  Government's  action, 
I  bless  its  magnanimity.  Generous  gifts  of  bread  and 
clothing  to  the  poor  and  hungry  are  in  accord  with  the 
conduct  of  our  Prophet  Mohammed  who,  following  the 
ways  of  our  Lord  God,  even  borrowed  from  the  Jews  in 
order  to  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  needy.  Moreover, 
four  of  Mohammed's  apostles  (Vizirs-Chakhariars)  had 


COMPLETING    BOURGEOIS    REVOLUTION  1Q1 

actually  sold  themselves  into  slavery  so  as  to  pay  the  debts 
of  some  poor  and  hungry  people." 

The  statements  of  the  "progressive"  Fergana  and  Tash- 
kent clergy,  as  well  as  of  the  renowned  ishan  Vali-Khod- 
zhaiev,  created  a  furore  among  the  intransigents  who  ac- 
cused the  "progressives"  of  wilfully  misinterpreting  the 
teachings  of  Mohammed  and  deliberately  distorting  pas- 
sages from  the  Koran.  They  made  every  effort  to  prevent 
these  statements,  published  in  thousands  of  leaflets,  from 
reaching  the  masses.  They  destroyed  every  bundle  of  leaf- 
lets they  managed  to  lay  hands  on.  Of  course,  their  efforts 
were  futile.  The  news  spread  like  wildfire.  Within  a  few 
weeks  the  religious  front  was  completely  shattered.  Even 
the  most  rabidly  reactionary  mullahs  were  finally  forced 
to  an  attitude  of  pretended  "neutrality." 

What  is  more,  there  suddenly  broke  out,  for  the  first 
time  in  the  history  of  Islam,  desertions  of  the  Holy  Orders 
and  conversions  to  Bolshevism  and  atheism. 

From  a  score  of  similar  documents,  taken  at  random, 
the  following  statement  of  one  disillusioned  village  divine 
is  illustrative: 

"Deceived  by  the  beys  and  the  clergy,  I,  Babo-Abad 
Sharipov,  at  the  Mosque  of  Khadzhi-Abad,  had  for  decades 
been  pouring  nonsense  into  the  heads  of  our  benighted 
toiling  peasantry.  I  now  see  the  truth.  Having  read  the 
statement  issued  by  our  upper  clergy,  I  have  come  to  the 
realization  that  our  entire  clergy  has  used  the  Sheriat  and 
the  Koran  for  economic  ends.  I  solemnly  swear  before  the 
whole  people  and  the  Soviet  Government  that  henceforth 
I  shall  not  be  the  servant  of  a  faith  which  I  have  ceased 
to  recognize  or  believe  in,  which  is  calculated  to  deceive 
the  people.  I  shall  henceforth  do  honest  work,  till  the  soil, 
like  all  other  peasants.  I,  therefore,  ask  the  Soviet  Govern- 
ment to  grant  me  a  plot  of  land  in  accordance  with  the 
established  labor  norm." 

And  here  is  part  of  another  typical  document  showing 
the  manner  in  which  the  village  poor  received  the  sudden 
ideological  about-face  of  the  mullahs: 

"We  and  our  fathers  have  for  many  years  been  under 


1Q2  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  yoke  of  our  beys  and  our  lying  clergy.  The  latter,  by 
means  of  religious  deception,  sowed  hatred  amongst  us, 
and  we  attacked  one  another.  And  all  the  while  the  beys 
and  the  mullahs  were  happy  and  jubilant.  Now  we  see 
our  upper  clergy  littering  Uzbekistan  with  proclamations 
culled  from  holy  books.  But  we,  the  farm  hands  of  Mas- 
lagad-Tepe,  would  like  to  answer  these  proclamations. 
And  where  were  you  before  with  your  proclamations? 
Have  you,  our  spiritual  guides,  been  fooling  us,  and  re- 
fused to  open  our  eyes?  We,  the  farm  hands  of  Maslagad- 
Tepe  see  through  your  deception,  and  we  trust  only  our 
workers'  government. ..." 

Poor  mullahs!  No  anti-religious  Bolshevik  propaganda 
could  possibly  have  been  more  disastrous  to  the  prestige 
of  the  mosque  than  the  stupid,  selfish,  and  undignified  be- 
havior of  the  mosque's  servants.  Intrigue,  hypocrisy,  ob- 
sequiousness, compromise,  opportunism— they  shunned 
nothing  as  long  as  there  was  the  least  hope  of  retaining  a 
vestige  of  influence  and  power.  The  land  reform  gave  the 
Mohammedan  religion  in  Central  Asia  a  blow  from  which 
it  never  recovered. 


The  Intelligentsia  Too! 

Another  Soviet  victory  resulting  from  the  triumphant 
march  of  the  agrarian  revolution  was  the  gradual  winning 
over  of  the  best  elements  of  the  Uzbek  intelligentsia.  The 
first  bid  for  educated  support  was  made  by  Akhan-Bab- 
riev,  the  chairman  of  the  Central  Executive  Committee 
of  Uzbekistan.  Addressing  a  conference  of  teachers  at  An- 
dijan,  he  described  in  glowing  terms  the  nature  of  the 
land  reform  and  what  it  meant  to  the  long-suffering  Uzbek 
people,  and  made  an  impassioned  plea  to  the  teachers  and 
to  all  Uzbek  intellectuals  to  join  the  government  and  the 
Party  in  the  great  task  of  rehabilitating  the  country.  This, 
in  a  sense,  was  an  appeal  to  national  pride  and  patriotism, 
an  attempt  to  utilize  the  emotional  dynamite  contained  in 
old  loyalties. 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION 

Akhan-Babriev's  appeal  met  with  a  warm  response.  Im- 
mediately a  conference  of  several  hundred  progressive 
leaders  of  the  native  intelligentsia  was  called  at  Kokand 
to  discuss  a  number  of  important  questions  pertaining  to 
the  economic  and  cultural  life  of  Uzbekistan.  The  most 
important  point  on  the  agenda  was  the  land  reform.  Here 
was  the  flower  of  the  national  intellect:  teachers  of  the 
old  and  the  new  schools,  religious  luminaries  and  scholars, 
writers,  etc.  Most  of  them  had  been  either  definitely  an- 
tagonistic to  the  new  regime  or  proudly  indifferent.  After 
the  purposes  of  the  land  reform  had  been  explained  by  a 
member  of  the  local  government,  heated  discussions 
began,  but  their  general  tenor  was  favorable  to  the  gov- 
ernment. Naturally,  there  was  grumbling  too.  Some  of  the 
older  men  seemed  to  take  special  pleasure  in  pointing  out 
the  inefficiency  and  abuse  of  power  of  some  of  the  gov- 
ernment commissions.  Then  sprang  up  the  well-known 
Uzbek  writer  Fazid-Bek.  "Where  have  you  been  until 
now?"  he  shouted.  "Why  have  you  been  sleeping  until 
now?  When  the  Soviet  Government  launched  the  reform, 
you  said:  'This  is  a  very  difficult  question,'  and  you  washed 
your  hands,  and  remained  standing  aloof.  And  now  you 
come  here  and  complain  that  certain  commissions  don't 
work  well.  You  consider  yourselves  a  cultural  force,  so 
why  in  the  name  of  culture  don't  you  help  the  commis- 
sions to  do  their  work?" 

Fazid-Bek's  outburst  was  greeted  with  loud  applause. 
The  Conference  passed  a  resolution  promising  the  in- 
telligentsia's cooperation  and  support  in  carrying  the  land 
reform  into  effect.  Like  the  declaration  of  the  mullahs, 
this  resolution  was  given  the  widest  publicity  in  the  Soviet 
press. 


Like  a  Dream  Come  True 

To  the  Government,  more  important  than  the  attitude 
of  the  beys,  the  clergy,  and  the  intellectuals,  was  that  of 
the  middle  peasant.  Neither  rich  nor  poor,  neither  kulak 


194  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

nor  farmhand,  the  middle  peasant  was  the  central  political 
and  economic  figure  in  the  Uzbek  village.  Htis  support  was 
essential  to  the  success  of  the  reform.  His  opposition  would 
have  been  fatal.  Small  wonder  most  of  the  pro  and  con 
propaganda  was  primarily  directed  at  him.  Placed  centrally 
and  pulled  in  diametrically  opposed  directions,  the  middle 
peasant  oscillated  between  the  two  extremes.  At  first  the 
reactionaries  seemed  to  have  the  upper  hand.  As  a  prop- 
erty owner,  the  middle  peasant  was  naturally  apprehensive 
of  any  policy  that  involved  confiscation  of  property,  even 
if  not  his  property.  The  bey's  argument  "To-day  they  are 
expropriating  me;  to-morrow  they  will  rob  you"  had 
struck  a  sympathetic  chord.  At  best  the  middle  peasant 
assumed  a  position  of  watchful  waiting  or  neutrality,  at 
worst  he  cooperated  with  the  beys  and  mullahs.  It  took 
no  end  of  promising  and  reassuring  and  cajoling  to  finally 
draw  the  middle  peasant  toward  the  government.  Only 
when  he  was  confident  that  his  property  would  remain 
intact  did  he  begin  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  work 
of  the  Commission  of  Cooperation,  fighting  side  by  side 
with  the  poor  peasants.  His  slogan  now  was,  "Let  us  be 
middle  peasants  all!"  The  middle  peasant's  change  of 
heart  was  a  triumph  of  Bolshevik  diplomacy  and  tact. 
With  him  on  the  side  of  the  reform,  the  agricultural  rev- 
olution in  Uzbekistan  was  secure. 

We  now  come  to  the  one  class  that  was  the  most  direct 
and  immediate  beneficiary  of  the  reform— the  poor  peas- 
ant, the  tenant  farmer,  the  agricultural  laborer.  As  regards 
the  reaction  of  this  class,  there  come  to  mind  several 
characteristic  episodes  I  heard  told  by  various  people  who 
had  been  active  in  instituting  the  change. 

On  the  way  to  a  meeting  of  the  Central  Executive  Com- 
mittee of  Uzbekistan,  a  few  members  of  the  Government— 
Akhan-Babriev,  Ikramov,  and  others— stopped  off  at  a  little 
station  to  greet  the  assembled  peasants.  That  was  in  the 
early  days  of  October,  1925.  The  land  reform  was  as  yet 
only  a  vague  rumor.  To  feel  out  the  peasants,  the  govern- 
ment representatives  tackled  the  question  of  water  and 
land.  The  peasants  listened,  nodded,  scratched  their  heads, 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  195 

posed  questions,  and  before  the  train  started  asked  the 
visitors  to  urge  upon  the  session  at  Andijan  the  necessity 
of  land  redistribution.  "But  are  you  ready  to  help  us  in 
putting  it  through?  Aren't  you  afraid  that  the  beys  and 
the  kulaks  will  do  everything  possible  to  balk  us?"  "How?" 
answered  an  old  peasant.  "They  can't  hide  their  lands  in 
their  pockets!" 

That  the  overwhelming  majority  of  the  poor  peasants 
favored  redistribution  of  land  is  not  surprising.  For  them, 
the  whole  period  of  agitation  for  the  reform  and  of  putting 
it  into  effect  was  one  grand,  unforgettable  holiday— fes- 
tivities, celebrations,  parades,  bands,  speeches,  cheers. 
They  flocked  to  meetings.  They  listened  to  reports,  asked 
endless  questions  about  the  extent  of  the  financial  aid  the 
Government  proposed  to  give  them,  about  seed,  tractors, 
and,  almost  invariably,  about  schools.  They  exposed  the 
tricks  of  the  beys,  and  worked  enthusiastically  with  the 
Commission  of  Peasant  Cooperation  which  they  had 
themselves  elected.  Where  the  Commission  did  not  func- 
tion well  or  rapidly  enough,  the  peasants,  impatient,  their 
appetites  whetted,  on  occasions  took  the  initiative  and, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  perpetrated  acts  of  such  cruel 
violence  that  they  had  to  be  stopped  by  the  Government. 
Often  when  the  land  commission  went  about  inspecting 
the  beys'  estates,  all  the  poor  and  middle  peasants  of  the 
village,  carrying  banners,  singing  songs,  would  break  out 
into  spontaneous  demonstrations  and  would  follow  the 
commissions  from  house  to  house  seeing  to  it  that  "justice 
be  done." 

The  joy  of  the  average  farmhand  or  tenant  farmer  when 
he  got  a  plot  of  land,  some  implements,  and,  occasionally, 
even  some  live-stock  can  well  be  imagined. 

In  1931,  an  Uzbek  peasant,  a  chairman  of  a  collective 
farm,  told  me  of  the  great  happiness  the  reform  had 
brought  into  his  household.  "I  had  been  a  farmhand, 
working  for  a  rich  bey.  During  the  reform  I  was  given  a 
part  of  the  bey's  land  and  a  fine  ox.  When  I  first  saw  the 
great,  big,  handsome  ox,  it  looked  like  a  dream  come  true. 
I  was  so  happy,  I  rushed  over  to  him  and  began  to  kiss 


196  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

him.  When  I  came  back  home,  I  was  told  that  my  wife 
had  just  given  birth  to  a  boy.  Was  there  anything  else  a 
man  could  desire— two  joys  in  succession!  And  I  called  my 
son  Er-Islokhaty— Land  Reform.  I  wanted  my  son  to  re- 
member that  he  was  born  on  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life. . . ." 

We  shan't  forget  the  bey's  oppression, 

His  cruelties  and  violence— 

The  bey  ruined  the  peasant's  home. 

The  hour  of  retribution  is  here. 

I  shall  tell  you  the  story  of  the  bey's  crimes. 

Of  his  shamelessness: 

For  a  hundred  rubles  he  would  ask 

A  thousand  ruble  security.  And  the 

Judge  would  say:  Correct. 

To  whom  could  the  poor  man 

With  three  children  complain? 

Who  had  the  power  to  complain  against  the  bey? 

The  poor  man  had  only  one  remedy 

That  remedy  was— bitter  tears. 


XI 
TOWARD  SOCIALISM 

Free  peasant,  does  not  your  heart  throb  with  the  desire 
Sooner  to  behold  our  beautiful  valleys,  our  fields? 
Have  you  not  been  lifted  on  the  wing  of  a  sweet  dream- 
To  work  on  the  open  breast  of  Spring, 

To  work   not  with  an  omach,  but  with  a  great,  great  machine? 
Peasant,  you  have  become  the  master  of  happiness. 
With  the  strength  of  your  will  shall  you  transform 
The  face  of  the  free  earth. 
The  tractor— your  friend.  You— on  the  heights  of  freedom. 

The  lands  your  very  own You  in  the  midst  of  joy! . . . 

—UZBEK  PEASANT  SONG  ABOUT  LAND  REFORM. 


Fear  of  the  Unknown 

BY  THE  spring  of  1926,  56,830  peasant  households  in 
Uzbekistan  were  provided  with  land  taken  from  the 
beys,  and  19,790  more  with  plots  obtained  from  newly 
irrigated  government  territory.  Thus  within  a  few  months 
76,620  propertyless  peasants  were  transformed  into  petty 
proprietors.  Of  these  only  35%  had  their  own  live-stock 
and  only  27%  their  own,  although  primitive,  agricultural 
implements.  Expropriation  of  die  beys,  forced  sales  of 
surplus  farm  stocks  and  modest  government  credits  granted 
to  about  47%  of  the  newly  settled  peasants  remedied  the 
situation  somewhat.  Moreover,  during  the  spring  sowing, 
the  government  threw  412  tractors  of  its  own  into  the 
newly  irrigated  fields.  Fifty-five  thousand  households  were 
provided  with  cotton  seed.  In  addition  to  567,000  rubles 
credit,  the  Uzbek  government  distributed  among  the 
peasants  153,000  poods  of  wheat  and  8,500  of  alfalfa  seeds 
for  sowing  and  100,000  poods  of  wheat  for  consumption. 
By  and  large  the  effects  of  the  land  reform  were  as  an- 

197 


198  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

ticipated.  The  prestige  of  the  Soviet  state  was  enhanced. 
The  Party  and  government  apparatus  in  the  rural  districts 
was  strengthened.  Relations  between  the  poor  peasants 
and  the  Government  were  firmly  cemented.  The  passive 
neutrality  or  antagonism  of  the  middle  peasant  was  over- 
come. The  position  of  the  beys  and  the  mullahs  was  defi- 
nitely undermined.  The  native  intelligentsia  was  partly 
persuaded  to  cooperate  with  the  new  regime.  The  need  for 
irrigation,  reclamation,  and  amelioration  was  made  man- 
ifest. Although,  even  after  the  reform,  50%  of  the  landless 
peasants  remained  without  land,  agriculture  was  made 
more  productive. 

The  main  danger,  from  the  communist  viewpoint,  was 
the  numerical  growth  of  the  individual  peasant-proprietor 
class.  Left  unchecked,  the  more  unscrupulous  and  preda- 
tory peasants  would  become  kulaks,  and  would  within  a 
short  time  again  achieve  economic  supremacy.  Indications 
of  such  a  possibility  were  not  wanting.  There  were  cases 
where  farmhands  and  tenant  farmers,  unable  to  manage 
their  newly  acquired  lands,  voluntarily  returned  them  to 
the  original  owners,  the  beys.  Where  government  credits 
or  live-stock  or  implements  proved  inadequate,  the  poor 
peasant  again  fell  into  the  claws  of  the  usurer,  the  bey, 
the  kulak.  Furthermore,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  about 
50%  of  the  landless  peasants  were  still  unprovided  for, 
there  was  a  basis  for  continued  exploitation  of  labor  and 
private  enrichment.  Finally,  an  increased  number  of  small 
peasant  holdings  would  not  be  conducive  to  effective  cen- 
tral planning  or  to  a  full  utilization  of  modern  mechanical 
improvements,  or,  what  is  even  more  important,  to  the 
growth  and  development  of  a  collectivist  psychology. 

The  Land  and  Water  reform  was  actually  only  the  first, 
the  bourgeois  phase  of  the  agrarian  revolution  in  Central 
Asia.  The  second,  the  socialist,  phase  started  only  with 
the  collectivization  campaign  of  1929-1930,  in  the  midst 
of  the  first  Five-Year  Plan.  The  principal  objective  of  that 
plan  was  to  lay  the  foundation  for  the  "building  of  Social- 
ism" in  the  Soviet  Union.  But  the  building  of  Socialism  in 
one  country— in  the  midst  of  an  inimical  capitalist  world 


COMPLETING    BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  199 

—posited  the  attainment  of  a  large  degree  of  economic 
independence.  The  USSR  had  to  become  economically 
self-sufficient.  Among  many  other  things,  that  meant  also 
"Cotton  Independence." 

That  natural  conditions  in  Soviet  Central  Asia  were 
favorable  to  a  rapid  development  of  cotton-growing  was 
clear.  What  was  lacking  were  scientific  method  and  mech- 
anization. The  question  then  came  up  as  to  the  possibility 
of  introducing  the  machines  and  tractors  and  scientific 
control  demanded  by  the  Five-Year  Plan  on  tiny  plots  of 
land  owned  and  cultivated  individually  by  poor  and  igno- 
rant peasants.  And  the  answer  was,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible, that  altogether  no  real  planning  could  be  effected  in 
the  presence  of  a  vast,  chaotic,  petty,  individual  economy, 
and  that,  therefore,  any  attempt  to  carry  out  the  Five-Year 
Plan  in  Central  Asia  would  necessitate  rapid  collectiviza- 
tion of  the  cotton  lands. 

The  basis  for  such  a  move  was  present.  As  elsewhere  in 
the  Soviet  Union,  here,  too,  one  of  the  most  powerful 
missionaries  of  collectivization  was  the  modern  machine. 
A  small  number  of  collective  farms  had  been  organized 
here  shortly  after  the  Civil  War;  during  the  Land  Reform 
of  1925-1927  a  few  more  had  been  formed;  by  1929,  3.5% 
of  the  peasant  households  of  Central  Asia  were  in  collec- 
tives. Still,  as  compared  with  the  rest  of  the  Union,  Cen- 
tral Asia  was  "disgracefully"  delinquent.  Then  the  order 
was  issued,  and  the  collectivization  campaign  was  rapidly 
set  in  motion.  The  technique  was  very  similar  to  that  of 
the  Land  Reform  campaign.  Again  agitation,  again  propa- 
ganda, again  bands  and  theatrical  troupes  and  orators, 
again  attacks  on  the  "mullahs,  the  beys,  and  the  kulaks," 
again  appeals  to  the  individual  and  class  interests  of  the 
poor  and  middle  peasants.  But  considering  the  difficulty 
of  demonstrating  the  advantages  of  collective  ownership 
and  management,  the  period  of  preliminary  propaganda 
was  too  short;  the  training  of  special  organizers,  inade- 
quate; and  the  voluntary  principle  of  collectivization,  not 
sufficiently  popularized.  In  1925-1927  the  landless  peasant 
and  the  tenant  farmer  had  readily,  in  most  cases  enthusi- 


2OO  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

astically,  acclaimed  the  confiscation  of  the  rich  man's 
property.  At  that  time  no  involved  arguments  were  nec- 
essary. The  poor  peasant  had  grasped  the  idea  immedi- 
ately. Why  not?  He  was  always  ready  to  get  something 
for  nothing.  But  now  it  was  a  different  matter.  On  the  face 
of  it,  collectivization  meant  not  getting  but  giving.  The 
benefits,  even  when  understood,  which  was  not  yet  the 
case  with  most  peasants,  were  remote  and  problematical; 
the  loss  of  ownership  and  personal  control  was  immedi- 
ately and  painfully  tangible.  The  Land  Reform  scarcely 
involved  a  psychological  adjustment;  the  transfer  of  some 
lands  from  the  feudal  landlords  to  the  poor  peasants  had 
not  seriously  affected  either  the  institution  or  the  psy- 
chology of  private  ownership.  If  anything,  it  had  created 
a  vast  number  of  new  petty  proprietors.  But  collectiviza- 
tion, despite  the  lure  of  the  tractor  and  the  influence  of 
the  few  state  farms,  machine  and  tractor  stations,  and  cot- 
ton-growers' cooperatives,  still  meant  a  definite  break  with 
the  past,  a  leap  into  the  unknown,  and  economic  and 
psychological  revolution. 


Dizziness  from  Success 

Yet  the  struggle  for  cotton  and  socialism  demanded  col- 
lectivization, and  the  Bolsheviks  were  not  the  people  to 
flinch  before  difficulties.  Next  to  the  Civil  War,  the  spring 
sowing  campaigns  of  1930  in  Uzbekistan  and  of  1931  in 
Tadjikistan  were  probably  the  most  intensely  dramatic 
and  lurid  periods  in  the  whole  history  of  Central  Asia. 
The  class  struggle  in  the  village  flared  up  with  unprece- 
dented violence.  The  surviving  kulaks  and  the  beys  fought 
tooth  and  nail  against  collectivization.  Now  their  propa- 
ganda was  falling  on  more  hospitable  soil.  "We  told  you 
so,"  was  their  refrain  to  the  middle  peasants.  "Before  it 
was  we,  now  it  is  you,  and  the  end  is  not  yet."  Even  the 
onetime  landless  peasant  was  dubious.  Nor  can  it  be  said 
that  most  of  the  local  authorities  were  distinguishing 
themselves  by  efficient  and  diplomatic  handling  of  the 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  2O1 

situation.  Eager  to  show  results,  over-confident  of  their 
ability  to  control  the  peasant  masses,  many  of  them  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  least  resistance:  instead  of  patient 
suasion,  coercion;  instead  of  revolutionary  elasticity, 
bureaucratic  rigidity. 

Collectivization  was  an  exciting  game;  and  the  over- 
zealous  players  rivaled  one  another  in  their  headlong  rush 
for  the  goal.  In  one  region  the  local  officials  declared  four 
districts  one  hundred  per  cent  collectivized,  and  to  make 
reality  conform  to  their  boast,  they  used  force  to  drag 
the  peasants  into  the  collectives.  In  the  village  of  Donjor, 
a  poor  peasant  told  me  of  how  a  certain  Abdulaiev,  a  local 
communist,  had  handled  the  job  of  "strengthening  the 
kolkhoz  (collective)  movement."  At  a  meeting  of  Kolkhoz- 
niks  addressed  by  Abdulaiev,  eight  poor  and  middle  peas- 
ants, including  the  man  who  told  me  the  story,  expressed 
their  unwillingness  to  remain  in  the  collective.  Abdulaiev 
jumped  up,  and,  shaking  his  fists,  delivered  himself  of  an 
harangue  full  of  objurgations  and  threats.  He  announced 
that  peasants  deserting  the  kolkhoz  would  receive  no  credit 
and  no  bread.  "If  that's  the  case,"  replied  the  eight,  "we'd 
rather  stay  in  the  kolkhoz."  But  Abdulaiev's  ire  was 
aroused,  and  he  decided  to  frustrate  the  "clever  trick"  of 
the  "class  enemies."  "Now  it  is  too  late.  Now  we  won't 
take  you  back.  If  you  apply  eight  times,  if  you  prove  that 
you  are  sincerely  anxious  to  join  the  kolkhoz,  then  per- 
haps we'll  consider  you  again.  Meanwhile,  to  those  who 
have  withdrawn  we'll  return  neither  their  lands,  nor  their 
horses,  nor  their  wagons;  for  we  are  in  the  majority.  We'll 
give  you  back  your  horses  only  upon  receiving  100  rubles 
in  cash  from  each  of  you.  As  to  the  land,  you  may  get 
some  in  May,  if  we  have  any  land  to  spare."  In  a  resolution 
formulated  by  Abdulaiev  the  peasants  were  denounced  as 
"enemies  of  collectivization." 

In  their  exuberance,  some  kolkhoz  organizers  made 
reckless  promises.  One  fellow  declared  that  the  Soviet 
Government  would  give  500  rubles  and  a  horse  to  every 
peasant  entering  a  kolkhoz.  Another  organizer  went  to 
the  length  of  saying  that  the  Soviet  Government  would 


202  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

provide  all  the  farmhands  and  poor  peasants  with  wives. 

There  were  organizers  whose  conduct  in  the  villages 
bordered  on  lunacy.  I  recall  the  case  of  the  "communist" 
Aliman  Djandarbekov— a  gay  old  chap,  and  quite  a  toper. 
When  under  the  weather  he  used  to  "talk  big"  to  the 
peasants.  "Well,  comrades,"  he  would  say  to  the  awed  vil- 
lagers, "with  the  help  of  Allah,  we  have  got  your  cattle 
already.  Now  we  shall  collectivize  your  wives  and  daugh- 
ters, and  make  them  sleep  with  us,  and  we'll  have  a  per- 
fect Commune." 

In  a  Kokand  village,  ten  middle  peasants  were  denied 
membership  in  a  kolkhoz  because  they  had  been  seen 
praying  in  the  mosque.  In  the  village  of  Kodja  Yakshabo, 
a  kolkhoz  was  dissolved  because  the  members  insisted  on 
going  to  the  mosque.  In  the  Bokhara  districts  some  over- 
zealous  officials  declared  that  in  the  kolkhozi  cremation 
of  the  dead  would  be  compulsory.  And  in  the  district  of 
Kashka-Daria  one  "learned"  native  communist  expelled 
a  few  peasants  from  a  kolkhoz  because  they  were  unable 
to  answer  his  questions:  "What  is  Socialism?"  "When  did 
Darwin  live?"  In  the  village  of  Mazor,  the  native  Com- 
munist Buribikov  became  so  irritated  with  the  four  hun- 
dred peasants  who  refused  to  join  a  kolkhoz  that  he  called 
out  the  military  and  chased  the  peasants  20  kilometers 
away  from  the  village. 

Many  officials  became,  in  the  words  of  Stalin,  "dizzy 
from  success."  Not  satisfied  with  the  simpler  forms  of  col- 
lective farming,  they  attempted  to  foist  upon  an  unpre- 
pared peasantry  full-fledged  communes.  They  were 
deterred  by  nothing.  Does  the  Party  hold  that  collectiviza.- 
tion  must  be  voluntary?  Well,  party  instructions  must  be 
interpreted  "liberally";  the  peasant  doesn't  know  what's 
good  for  him— he  must  be  forced  into  a  kolkhoz.  Does  the 
peasant  object  to  parting  with  his  horse?  Nonsense.  We 
break  into  his  house,  into  his  stable,  into  his  barn,  into 
his  chicken  coop,  and  collectivize  his  horses,  calves,  sheep, 
chickens.  Is  the  peasant  who  refuses  to  join  a  kolkhoz  a 
middle  peasant?  That,  too,  is  a  minor  detail.  We'll  con- 
fiscate his  property,  deprive  him  of  his  legal  rights,  and 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  203 

brand  him  a  kulak.  In  certain  Central  Asian  villages, 
twenty  per  cent  of  the  inhabitants  were  arbitrarily  stig- 
matized as  "kulaks,"  and  their  properties  confiscated. 

At  a  village  meeting  reported  in  the  Moscow  Pravda, 
the  peasants  of  Djon  Aryk  complained  against  the  high- 
handed methods  of  the  local  organizer  Ablaiev.  One 
peasant  shouted:  "To  me  my  ox  is  dearer  than  my  wife. 
To  me  my  horse  is  dearer  than  my  children.  I  will  gladly 
join  the  kolkhoz,  but  leave  me  my  ox  and  my  horse. . . . 
We  are  all  for  collectivization,  we  are  all  for  the  Soviet 
Government,  but  we  are  all  against  what  Ablaiev  is  doing. 
Togre— correct?"  "Togre!"  echoed  the  meeting  in  unison. 

The  peasants  were  so  vague  on  the  subject,  that  there 
were  numerous  cases  of  individual  peasants  joining  simul- 
taneously several  collectives. 

The  sowing  campaign  was  threatened.  Many  were  afraid 
to  plow  their  land  for  fear  that  it  might  be  taken  away 
from  them.  Others  who  had  been  administratively  in- 
ducted into  collective  farms  were  too  resentful  to  work. 
Even  voluntarily  organized  collectives  had  not  the  faintest 
notion  of  the  extent  of  their  lands,  of  the  amount  of  cattle 
or  implements  in  their  possession,  or  of  how  to  proceed 
with  their  collective  labors.  The  cotton  plan  was  in  danger. 
Yet  so  busy  were  some  of  the  local  Soviet  bureaucrats 
with  writing  up  long  lists  of  kolkhozniks,  that  they  did 
not  heed  the  ominous  signs.  "The  peasants  here  have  been 
so  busy  joining  the  collectives,"  boasted  one  official  tele- 
gram from  a  Khorezm  village,  "that  they  have  done  noth- 
ing to  prepare  for  the  spring  sowing;  they  have  not  even 
carted  the  fertilizer  to  the  fields."  Success!  A  few  more 
weeks  of  such  overwhelming  success,  and  the  Soviet  Union 
would  have  faced  a  cotton  famine  in  1930,  and  Central 
Asia  would  have  faced  appalling  economic  disorganization 
and  ruin. 

Anti-Soviet  elements  speculated  on  those  "successes." 
Surreptitiously  they  agitated  against  collectivization: 
"Allah  is  against  collectives.  This  is  certain.  Behold  how 
the  new  collectives  fall  apart  as  soon  as  pressure  from  the 
outside  is  removed";  or  "They  say  our  women  will  be 


204  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

forced  to  remove  their  veils  and  will  be  collectivized  by 
the  Government";  or  "The  collectives  will  be  forced  to 
raise  only  cotton.  No  bread-grains  or  rice  will  be  per- 
mitted to  be  sown.  The  Government  will  starve  us  to 
death";  or  "The  only  ones  who  will  benefit  from  a  col- 
lective will  be  the  lazy-bones,  the  loafers,  the  shiftless,  the 
ne'er-do-wells.  They  will  do  nothing,  while  the  industri- 
ous peasant  will  have  to  do  all  the  work."  In  the  Fergana, 
Tashkent,  and  Samarkand  districts,  the  kulaks,  ignoring 
the  commandments  of  the  Islam  faith,  began  to  "work" 
among  the  women.  Secret  meetings  of  women  were  or- 
ganized. The  women  were  urged  to  do  only  one  thing- 
scream,  scream  that  they  would  have  no  kolkhozi. 

But  it  is  easy  to  over-emphasize  the  pig-headedness  of  the 
local  officials,  the  infernal  cleverness  of  the  kulaks,  and  the 
universality  of  poor  and  middle  peasants'  objections  to  the 
kolkhoz.  These  things  existed  to  a  large  extent,  they  made 
the  task  of  the  Bolsheviks  in  Central  Asia  exceedingly 
difficult.  Yet  the  fact  that  the  cotton  area  in  the  whole  of 
the  Soviet  Union  increased  from  1,055,000  hectares  in  1929 
to  1,632,000  hectares  in  1930,  and  that  in  the  Fall  of  1930, 
29%  of  all  the  peasants  in  Central  Asia  were  solidly  joined 
in  collectives— an  increase  of  25.5%  in  one  year— suggests 
that  the  obstacles  were  not  insurmountable. 


Fascination  of  Tractors 

The  question  arises:  what  were  the  factors  in  the  eco- 
nomic and  political  situation  in  Central  Asia  that  made 
the  triumph  of  collectivization  possible,  despite  the  tact- 
lessness and  inefficiency  of  many  organizers,  the  doubt  or 
reluctance  of  many  peasants,  and  the  intensive  anti-col- 
lectivization propaganda  of  the  united  forces  of  the  kulaks, 
the  beys,  and  the  mullahs? 

In  the  Soviet  Union,  especially  in  its  more  distant  sec- 
tions in  Central  Asia,  the  people  had  lived  for  centuries 
in  unchanging  primitive  conditions.  The  only  means  of 
locomotion  was  the  ass  or  the  camel.  In  some  of  the  moun- 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  205 

tainous  regions  even  the  principle  of  the  wheel  was  un- 
known. The  people  scratched  the  surface  of  their  fields 
with  crude  heavy  sticks  (omach)  pulled  by  the  ox.  In  the 
villages  even  kerosene  lamps  were  unheard  of;  they  used 
candles  and  more  often  a  bit  of  cotton  floating  in  a  small 
dish  of  oil.  Ventilation,  sanitation,  hygiene  were  unknown. 
The  ancient  system  of  irrigation  was  miserably  inadequate. 
The  Central  Asian  village  was  the  symbol  of  darkness, 
filth,  and  disease. 

One  can  well  imagine  the  tremendous  fascination  that 
a  tractor,  a  motor  truck,  an  airplane,  a  hydro-electric 
plant,  or  a  locomotive  holds  for  the  Central  Asian  peasant. 
He  is  awed  by  it,  but  he  is  drawn  to  it.  He  is  suspicious 
of  its  novelty,  but  lured  by  the  advantages  it  offers.  All 
the  Bolshevik  had  to  do  was  to  bring  these  things  to  the 
attention  of  the  peasant,  and  they  spoke  for  themselves. 
All  that  was  necessary  was  to  organize  a  couple  of  modern 
state  farms,  several  machine  and  tractor  stations,  and  to 
electrify  a  few  villages,  and  no  amount  of  political 
bungling  could  counteract  the  power  of  such  propaganda. 

The  moment  the  poor  peasant  discovered  that  working 
the  soil  with  a  tractor  was  easier,  better,  cheaper,  and 
faster  than  struggling  with  an  omach,  he  became  excellent 
potential  material  for  a  kolkhoz. 

In  1930  the  elements  seemed  to  cooperate  with  the  Bol- 
sheviks. The  spring  was  late  in  coming.  The  peasant  who 
had  only  one  ox  was  in  danger  of  not  getting  through 
with  his  sowing  on  time.  Every  day  was  precious.  Plodding 
behind  the  omach,  perspiration  running  down  his  face,  the 
peasant  could  not  but  be  powerfully  impressed  by  the 
tractor  on  the  neighboring  state  farm  which,  working 
twenty-four  hours  a  day,  accomplished  ten  times  as  much 
as  he  was  accomplishing.  If  he  could  only  get  a  tractor,  his 
anxiety  over  the  lateness  of  the  spring  would  vanish,  he 
would  gain  several  days  in  the  race.  And  what  a  wonder- 
ful Bolshevik  contraption  that  was!  Mind  you,  when  the 
tractor  was  not  working  on  the  field,  it  supplied  motor 
power  for  the  water  pump,  or  the  mill!  It  was  employed 
in  transporting  heavy  luggage;  it  was  used  in  a  hundred 


206  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

different  ways.  Ah,  this  dumb  ox,  the  peasant  was  sick  and 
tired  of  its  slow,  deliberate  pace.  And  following  his  ox, 
he  all  the  while  would  cast  envious  glances  at  the  youthful 
driver  mounted  on  his  steel  monster  across  the  line. 

The  bey  and  the  kulak,  knowing  that  the  Soviet  State 
would  never  permit  them  to  own  tractors  and  realizing 
that  the  tractors  were  the  most  eloquent  propagandists  for 
collectivization,  were  bitterly  opposed  to  them.  They 
spread  lies  about  them.  "Fields  worked  with  tractors  yield 
nothing.  It  is  a  sin  to  touch  a  tractor  for  it  is  lubricated 
with  the  fat  of  impure  animals."  Is  it  surprising  that  one 
of  the  Bolshevik  slogans  in  Central  Asia  was  ''The  enemy 
of  the  tractor  is  our  class  enemy?" 

But  even  the  whispering  campaign  of  the  class  enemy 
could  not  for  long  be  effectual  alongside  of  the  loud  paeans 
of  praise  that  rose  from  the  lips  of  those  who  had  seen  the 
great  achievements  and  understood  the  still  greater  po- 
tentialities of  the  modern  machine.  In  the  spring  of  1930, 
4,677  tractors  were  ripping  the  arid  soil  of  Central  Asia. 
Of  them  2,297  were  working  on  the  state  farms;  and  the 
remaining  2,480,  of  which  1,310  belonged  to  the  Cotton 
Cooperative  and  the  1,170  to  the  Machine  and  Tractor  Sta- 
tions of  the  Tractor  Center,  were  employed  on  the  fields 
of  the  collectives  and,  in  some  cases,  of  individual  poor 
and  middle  peasants.  The  Central  Asian  had  ample  op- 
portunity to  see  the  machines  in  action,  or  at  least  hear 
the  marvelous  tales  about  them. 

Fully  as  impressive  as  the  machines  were  the  spectacular 
organizations  employing  them.  There  was,  for  instance, 
Pakhta  Aral  (Island  of  Cotton)  the  magnificent  state  cot- 
ton plantation  administered  by  the  Cotton  Trust.  Stretch- 
ing along  both  sides  of  a  newly  built  canal,  over  an  area 
fifteen  miles  long  by  three  miles  wide,  and  embracing  six 
settlements  with  several  thousand  inhabitants,  this  giant 
plantation  was  producing  cotton  seed  sufficient  to  meet 
the  needs  of  almost  one-fourth  of  the  whole  of  Central 
Asia.  The  natives  had  witnessed  the  birth  of  this  giant. 
The  thrilling  story  of  how  an  army  of  men  and  tractors 
and  excavators  and  motor  trucks  had  invaded  the  Hungry 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  207 

Steppe  and  within  a  short  time  had  miraculously  trans- 
formed the  sterile  territory  into  a  flourishing  island  had 
been  assiduously  circulated  among  the  remotest  villages 
in  the  region.  Peasants  would  go  miles  out  of  their  way  to 
visit  Pakhta  Aral,  to  see  the  electric  plant,  the  machine 
shops,  the  schools,  the  hospital,  the  club,  the  cinema,  and 
the  modern  workers'  homes,  and  above  all  to  see  the  col- 
umns of  giant  caterpillars  advancing  through  the  fields. 

And  Pakhta  Aral  was  not  the  only  state  plantation  in 
Central  Asia.  In  1930  there  were  twelve  state  farms  cov- 
ering an  area  of  39,821  hectares  of  newly  irrigated  lands 
—25,013  in  Uzbekistan,  8,008  in  Tadjikistan,  and  6,800 
in  Turkmenistan. 

Of  even  greater  propaganda  value  were  the  Machine 
and  Tractor  Stations.  Up  to  the  end  of  1929,  the  few 
collective  cotton  farms  that  existed  in  Central  Asia  had 
almost  exclusively  been  created  on  the  basis  of  pooling  the 
land  and  the  few  and  primitive  agricultural  implements 
of  individual  peasant  households.  The  benefits  the  peasant 
derived  from  such  collectives  were  more  generous  credits, 
lower  taxes,  better  and  more  certain  supplies  of  bread  for 
family  maintenance  (received  from  the  state),  and  the 
general  feeling  of  greater  security  derived  from  collective 
effort  and  government  aid.  As  regards  machines  and  tech- 
nicians, the  benefits  were  not  so  great.  The  major  part 
of  the  work  on  those  farms  was  still  done  in  an  antedi- 
luvian way,  with  the  crude  implements  that  had  charac- 
terized agriculture  in  Central  Asia  for  many  centuries. 

The  few  tractor  brigades  sent  out  by  the  government 
were  only  supplementary.  They  helped  when  help  was 
urgently  needed.  Though  the  collectives  had  the  first  op- 
tion, poor  and  middle  peasants  not  in  collectives  were  also 
helped  by  the  brigades.  As  a  result,  each  spring  the  few 
tractors  at  the  Government's  disposal  were  scattered 
through  the  endless  spaces  of  Central  Asia,  in  groups  of 
two  and  three,  and  no  one  region  received  technical  aid 
of  real  consequence.  The  tractors  were  merely  used  as 
tantalizers.  The  brigades  were  primarily  missionary  in 
character.  The  whole  thing  was  to  a  large  extent  an  am- 


208  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

bitious  advertising  stunt.  But  it  was  an  expensive  stunt. 
Scattered  over  a  vast  area,  the  tractor  brigades  were  never 
sure  of  oil  or  skilled  mechanics. 

In  anticipation  of  the  collectivization  campaign  of  1930, 
the  authorities  in  Central  Asia  hastened  to  reorganize  the 
whole  system  of  technical  aid  to  the  villages.  Machine  and 
Tractor  Stations,  along  the  lines  successfully  operated 
throughout  the  extensive  grain  sections  of  the  Soviet 
Union,  began  to  be  put  up  with  great  speed.  Toward  the 
spring  of  1930,  nineteen  Machine  and  Tractor  Stations 
were  in  operation— six  of  which  were  in  Uzbekistan,  and 
four  in  Tadjikistan.  In  the  first  sowing  campaign  the 
MTS's  of  Central  Asia  fulfilled  1 17.7%  of  the  task  imposed 
by  the  government. 


MTS  and  Cooperatives 

To  appreciate  more  fully  the  role  of  the  MTS  in  indus- 
trializing and  collectivizing  the  cotton  plantations  of  Cen- 
tral Asia,  a  knowledge  of  the  manner  in  which  an  MTS 
functions  is  indispensable. 

Every  MTS  is  an  independent,  cooperative,  economic 
unit,  created  for  the  purpose  of  rendering,  on  a  contrac- 
tual basis,  mechanical  aid  to  the  peasantry.  At  the  same 
time,  each  MTS  serves  as  the  center  from  which  the  col- 
lectivization of  the  surrounding  peasant  households  and 
the  "socialist  reconstruction  of  the  district"  is  conducted. 
In  districts  having  an  MTS  the  collective  farms  do  not 
own  any  tractors.  All  tractors  designated  for  kolkhoz 
service  are  delivered  to  the  MTS,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
MTS  to  give  the  kolkhozi  preference  in  the  use  of  the 
tractors  and  other  agricultural  machines.  Next  to  the  full- 
fledged  kolkhozi,  peasant  associations  organized  for  the 
purpose  of  common  soil  cultivation  are  entitled  to  the 
services  of  the  MTS. 

The  usual  contract  between  an  MTS  and  a  kolkhoz  is 
signed  for  a  period  of  five  years,  and  is  registered  at  the 
Land  Department  of  the  Region.  Under  the  contract  the 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  200 

MTS  is  obliged  to  provide  the  collective  with  a  specified 
number  of  tractors,  implements,  and  various  services.  In 
case  of  necessity  the  MTS  is  also  obliged  to  make  all  the 
repairs  of  and  provide  all  the  necessary  parts  for  the  col- 
lective's own  machines.  Furthermore,  the  MTS  undertakes 
all  this  at  a  price  not  to  exceed  the  actual  cost.  All  expenses 
involved  in  repairing  its  own  machines  and  implements, 
in  providing  the  necessary  fuel  and  lubricants,  as  well  as 
in  employing  agronomists  and  technicians,  are  to  be  fully 
paid  for  by  the  MTS. 

On  its  side,  the  kolkhoz  assumes  a  series  of  obligations. 
First,  all  boundaries  between  separate  plots  of  land  must 
be  eliminated;  the  kolkhoz  must  represent  one  continuous 
stretch  of  land.  Second,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the 
Machine  and  Tractor  Stations  are  not  yet  equipped  with 
adequate  transport  facilities,  the  collective's  draught  ani- 
mals must,  when  necessary,  be  made  available  for  MTS 
use.  The  kolkhoz,  in  consideration  of  the  services  rendered 
by  the  MTS,  is  obliged  to  transport  fuel,  lubricants,  farm 
implements,  and  other  freight  from  the  nearest  railroad 
station  or  river  port  to  the  MTS.  However,  heavy  freight, 
such  as  threshers,  combines,  etc.,  is  to  be  handled  by  the 
MTS  itself.  The  kolkhoz  also  promises  to  transport  an 
adequate  supply  of  water  and  food  to  the  points  where 
MTS  tractors  are  at  work.  Accordingly,  "the  kolkhoz 
waives  the  right  to  sell  any  of  its  draught  animals  or  agri- 
cultural implements  without  the  consent  of  the  MTS." 
Also,  when  roads  are  to  be  improved  or  built,  the  kolkhoz 
must  provide  a  specified  quota  of  men  and  horses,  and  the 
MTS  the  required  number  of  tractors.  To  insure  greater 
productivity,  the  kolkhoz,  in  all  matters  pertaining  to 
agricultural  improvement,  planning,  organization  of  labor, 
irrigation,  pest  eradication,  and  hilling,  must  follow  in- 
structions of  MTS  experts. 

The  contract  also  specifies  the  exact  amount  of  land 
the  kolkhoz  is  to  use  for  cotton-growing.  And  to  encourage 
the  extension  of  cotton-sowing,  the  MTS  undertakes  to 
make  the  first  plowing  of  all  new  cotton  lands  free  of 
charge.  Tractor  drivers  are  to  be  supplied  by  the  kolkhoz 


21O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

from  among  its  own  members.  Prospective  "tractorists," 
men  or  women  elected  by  the  kolkhoz,  must  be  sent  for 
training  to  the  MTS,  their  living  expenses  for  the  required 
period  to  be  paid  by  the  kolkhoz.  For  all  its  services  the 
MTS  receives  25%  of  the  crop. 

(Incidentally,  from  the  tapering  off  of  the  NEP  and  up 
to  1932,  it  was  illegal  for  kolkhozi,  as  well  as  individual 
peasants,  to  sell  their  surplus  products  on  the  open  mar- 
ket. Such  selling  was  branded  as  "speculation,"  irrespective 
of  whether  or  not  the  kolkhoz  or  the  individual  peasant 
had  faithfully  delivered  to  the  state  the  amount  of  produce 
provided  by  the  contract.) 

A  very  important  feature  of  the  contract  is  the  follow- 
ing point:  "In  order  to  establish  close  contact  between 
the  kolkhozi  and  the  MTS  and  to  assure  peasant  control 
over  the  activities  of  the  latter,  a  special  council  is  formed 
consisting  of  delegates  elected  from  all  the  kolkhozi  in  the 
district  and  of  representatives  of  the  administration  of  the 
local  MTS."  Also,  the  MTS  must  call  periodic  production 
conferences  at  which  the  most  active  kolkhozniks  and  MTS 
workers  are  to  discuss  immediate  problems  of  work  and 
organization.  Finally,  failure  on  either  side  to  live  up  to 
the  terms  of  the  agreement  is  sufficient  ground  for  re- 
scinding it,  and  the  injured  party  has  a  right  to  sue  for 
damages. 

This  cursory  account  of  the  organization  and  functions 
of  the  Machine  and  Tractor  Stations  ought  to  be  sufficient 
to  convey  to  the  reader  the  tremendous  part  they  played 
in  the  success  of  the  1930  collectivization  campaign  in 
Central  Asia. 

There  was  another,  perhaps  still  more  powerful  factor 
in  preparing  the  native  masses  for  collectivization— and 
that  was  the  producer-buyer  relationship  between  the  peas- 
ant cotton-grower  and  the  Soviet  Government.  At  present, 
this  relationship  is  based  on  a  bilateral  contract  under 
which  the  Government,  in  consideration  of  the  peasant's 
promise  to  sow  a  stipulated  amount  of  cotton  on  a  speci- 
fied plot  of  land  and  to  sell  to  the  Government  such  mini- 
mal portions  of  the  cotton  crop  as  are  indicated  by  the 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  211 

terms  of  the  contract,  agrees  through  the  cotton-glowers' 
cooperative  to  purchase  from  the  peasant,  at  a  previously 
fixed  price,  cotton  in  quantities  equal  to,  or  in  excess  of, 
those  mentioned  in  the  contract,  as  well  as  to  supply  the 
peasant  with  the  agricultural  implements,  selected  cotton 
seed,  bread  grains,  and  manufactured  products  the  peas- 
ants may  require.  Up  to  about  1926,  however,  such  pre- 
liminary agreements  were  not  common,  and  the  state 
cotton-ginning  industry  used  to  obtain  large  quantities 
of  cotton  by  haphazard  purchases  from  the  peasants  dur- 
ing the  fall  and  winter  months.  Such  a  system  was  advan- 
tageous to  the  beys,  kulaks,  and  speculators,  who,  in 
addition  to  their  own  cotton,  were  selling  to  the  Govern- 
ment cotton  they  had  themselves  bought  at  low  prices 
from  the  poor  peasants— a  system  highly  unsatisfactory 
whether  viewed  from  the  angle  of  cotton  or  that  of  social- 
ist planning.  On  the  other  hand,  preliminary  individual 
contracts  with  millions  of  small  cotton  growers,  though 
highly  desirable  as  a  means  of  eliminating  the  parasitical 
middle-man,  would  have  entailed  another  evil— a  for- 
midably cumbersome  and  expensive  bureaucratic  appa- 
ratus. Here  was  a  problem  that  challenged  Bolshevik 
ingenuity.  The  answer  was,  a  mass  agricultural  coopera- 
tive organization,  built  up  pyramidally  from  the  bottom. 

The  basic  unit  of  the  cooperative  is  the  village  pro- 
ducers' association— in  Central  Asia,  the  village  cotton- 
growers'  association.  These  village  associations  which 
unite  all  the  poor  and  middle,  individual  and  collective, 
farmers  in  the  village  are  joined  in  regional  cotton- 
growers'  cooperative  unions,  which  in  turn  are  united  in 
one  central  Cotton-Growers'  Cooperative. 

The  chief  function  of  the  cooperative  is  to  act  as  inter- 
mediary between  the  cotton  growers  and  the  government 
cotton-ginning  industry.  Accordingly,  contracts  for  cotton 
are  concluded  by  the  cotton-ginning  industry  not  directly 
with  the  individual  peasant  households  or  separate  col- 
lectives, but  indirectly,  through  the  local  cooperative  asso- 
ciation which  represents  the  interests  of  all  its  individual 
and  collectivized  members. 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 
Planning  Made  Possible 

The  way  the  thing  works  is  rather  simple.  The  plan- 
ning commission  of  each  cotton-growing  Central  Asian 
Republic  draws  up  a  tentative  plan  for  each  region,  de- 
signed more  or  less  to  fit  into  the  general  cotton  plan  of 
the  Soviet  Union.  The  tentative  figures,  called  "control 
figures,"  for  they  offer  a  basis  for  checking  up  or  con- 
trolling results,  are  communicated  to  the  several  regional 
branches  of  the  Cotton-Growers'  Cooperative.  The  latter 
examine,  discuss,  and  if  necessary  amend  the  "control 
figures"  for  the  various  village  branches  of  the  cooperative. 
These  village  "control  figures,"  too,  are  drawn  up  so  as  to 
agree  approximately  with  the  tentative  plans  received 
from  above.  Each  village  branch,  balancing  the  control 
figures  received  from  the  regional  center  with  the  state- 
ments filed  by  all  its  members  as  to  how  much  cotton 
each  of  them  expects  to  sow  in  the  coming  spring,  goes 
through  a  parallel  procedure  with  regard  to  all  individual 
and  collective  cotton-growers  in  the  village.  At  village 
soviet  gatherings,  at  general  mass  meetings,  at  kolkhoz 
conferences,  the  "control  figures"  for  each  household  are 
weighed  and  discussed  and  fought  over.  Peasants  who  are 
anxious  to  get  larger  advances  from  the  Government  tend 
to  over-estimate,  while  kulaks  who  are  the  enemies  of 
cotton  tend  to  under-estimate  their  respective  cotton- 
growing  capacity.  Both  are  challenged  by  the  rest.  In  a 
small  compact  community  it  is  rather  difficult  to  hood- 
wink one's  neighbors.  In  case  of  disparity  between  the 
control  figures  for  the  village  and  the  total  proposed  by 
the  individual  and  collective  members,  a  general  meeting 
of  peasants  decides  just  where  the  figures  may  be  adjusted. 
When  cotton  assignments  are  increased,  land,  implement, 
and  labor  possibilities  are  taken  into  consideration.  If  cer- 
tain households  require  special  help  to  enable  them  to 
fulfill  the  assignment,  such  help  is  generally  granted  by 
the  meeting. 

The  treatment  of  the  kulak  is  less  gentle.  First,  he  is  not 


COMPLETING   BOURGEOIS   REVOLUTION  213 

allowed  membership  in  the  association.  Second,  the  Gov- 
ernment does  not  enter  into  any  contract  with  the  "class 
enemy."  The  village  soviet,  guided  by  resolutions  adopted 
at  the  general  meetings  of  the  poor  and  middle  peasants, 
gives  each  kulak  an  inflexible,  a  "hard"  cotton  assignment. 
The  kulak  is  paid  for  his  cotton  like  all  other  peasants, 
of  course,  except  that  he  does  not  get  any  advances  and, 
as  we  have  already  mentioned,  he  is  obliged  to  deliver  to 
the  Government  a  specified  quantity  of  cotton  determined 
in  advance  by  the  local  authorities. 

After  every  peasant  in  the  country  is  thoroughly  famil- 
iarized with  the  general  cotton  plan  and  the  part  he  per- 
sonally is  expected  to  play  in  fulfilling  it,  contracts  are 
signed.  First,  agreements  are  made  between  the  village 
branch  of  the  Cotton-Growers'  Cooperative  and  each  in- 
dividual member  in  that  branch;  second,  between  the 
regional  and  village  branches;  third,  between  the  central 
and  regional  branches.  So  far  all  the  agreements  are 
among  the  various  branches  of  the  Cotton-Growers'  Co- 
operative. The  last  step  is  a  contract  between  the  central 
office  of  the  Producers'  Cooperative  and  the  state  cotton- 
ginning  industry.  The  cotton  grower's  numerous  con- 
tractual obligations,  such  as  weeding,  watering,  hilling, 
picking  at  proper  times,  are  in  the  final  analysis  but  part 
of  his  main  obligation— to  produce  and  deliver  to  the  co- 
operative warehouses  as  much  (or  more)  cotton  as  the 
cooperative  had  contracted  for.  The  main  obligation  of 
the  cooperative  is  to  buy  all  the  cotton  produced  by  each 
individual  or  collective  farmer  at  a  price  not  lower  than 
the  contract  price.  The  cooperative  is  also  obliged  to  pay 
to  each  individual  or  collective  cotton-grower  advances 
(monetary  or  in  the  form  of  manufactured  products, 
seed,  fertilizer,  implements,  bread,  MTS  service,  etc.)  in 
amounts  and  at  intervals  specified  in  the  contract. 

In  the  spring  of  1930,  there  were  in  Central  Asia  2,192 
village  branches  of  the  Cotton-Growers'  Cooperative. 
There  were  i  ,630  branches  in  Uzbekistan,  and  50  in  Tad- 
jikistan. These  simple  cooperative  associations,  in  drawing 
many  poor  and  middle  peasants  out  of  their  economic  iso- 


214  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

lation,  in  making  them  feel  that  they  were  active  parts  of  a 
complicated  economic  whole,  in  perpetually  holding  be- 
fore them  the  advantages  of  cooperative  effort,  in  educating 
them  socially  and  politically,  in  taking  the  initiative 
toward  the  economic  and  cultural  reconstruction  of  the 
village,  have  been  incomparable  training  schools  for  kol- 
khozniks.  Together  with  the  state  farms  and  Machine 
and  Tractor  Stations,  they  rendered  the  peasant's  transi- 
tion to  higher  forms  of  collective  ownership  and  collective 
enterprise  not  only  natural  but  inevitable. 

That  this  was  so  can  be  judged  by  what  took  place  in 
Uzbekistan  during  the  next  few  years.  As  in  all  the  Cen- 
tral Asian  Republics,  the  1930  collectivization  campaign 
in  Uzbekistan  did  not  seriously  affect  the  cultivation  of 
cotton.  Indeed,  judging  by  the  growth  of  the  cotton  area, 
1930  showed  more  than  normal  progress.  In  1925-26,  the 
cotton  area  in  Uzbekistan  was  380,000  hectares;  in  1926-27, 
444,300  hectares;  in  1927-28,  529,900;  in  1928-29,  585,700; 
in  1929-30,  824,000;  and  in  1930-31,  1,020,200  hectares. 
In  the  fall  of  1930,  over  27  per  cent  of  the  cotton  lands 
were  collectivized;  and  in  1931  over  55  per  cent.  In  1931 
the  state  cotton  plantations  stretched  over  areas  amounting 
to  80,000  hectares.  Instead  of  the  six  MTS's  in  1930,  Uz- 
bekistan had  fourteen  large  and  thirty-four  small  stations 
in  1931.  Instead  of  368  tractors  in  1930,  there  were  2,300 
in  1931.  The  total  value  of  all  agricultural  production  in 
Uzbekistan,  silk,  fruit,  grain,  wool  and  dairy  included, 
jumped  from  523  million  rubles  in  1928  to  1,216  millions 
in  1930  and  it  is  significant  that  the  increase  in  1929  over 
1928  was  only  5.2  per  cent,  while  in  1930  it  was  29  per 
cent  over  1929. 


PART  FOUR 
BUILDING  SOCIALISM  IN  TADJIKISTAN 


". . .  The  revolution  would  not  have  triumphed  in  Russia, 
and  Kolchak  and  Denikin  would  not  have  been  crushed,  if 
the  Russian  proletariat  did  not  have  on  its  side  the  sympathies 
and  the  support  of  the  oppressed  peoples  in  the  former  Rus- 
sian empire.  But  to  win  the  sympathies  and  the  support  of 
these  peoples,  it  had  first  of  all  to  break  the  chain  forged  by 
Russian  imperialism  and  free  these  peoples  from  the  yoke 
of  national  oppression.  Without  this  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible firmly  to  establish  the  Soviet  power,  to  implant  true 
internationalism  and  to  create  the  remarkable  organization 
for  the  collaboration  of  nations  which  is  called  the  Union  of 
Soviet  Socialist  Republics  and  which  is  the  living  prototype 
of  the  future  union  of  nations  in  a  single  world  economic 
system." 

—JOSEPH  STALIN,  The  National  Question. 


XII 
A  BOLSHEVIK  IN  STALINABAD 

Who  has  brought  to  our  steppes  the  gay,  ringing 

streams? 
Who  has  tamed  the  wild  waters  of  the  turbulent 

Pianj? 
Who  has  brought  our  poor  peasants  sweet  joy 

and  sweet  rest? 
The  men  from  the  North!   The  men  of  great 

freedom! 

The  men  of  Marx  and  Lenin— the  Bolsheviks! 
— ALI-BE,  Turkoman  Poet. 


Structures  and  Superstructures 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  powerful  impression  made  on 
me  by  Sluchak,  the  assistant  to  the  native  vice-president 
of  the  Tadjik  Republic.  I  lived  in  his  hastily  built,  sparsely 
furnished  apartment  for  over  two  weeks  and  I  had  an  ex- 
cellent opportunity  to  observe  this  wiry,  energetic,  blue- 
eyed  and  dark-skinned  Bolshevik  at  close  range. 

The  apartment  gave  one  the  feeling  of  military  head- 
quarters. Except  for  the  time  that  my  host  spent  in  the 
office,  his  home,  from  early  morning  till  late  in  the  night, 
was  crowded  with  people— officials  with  portfolios  and 
batches  of  papers,  engineers  with  blue-prints  and  grandi- 
ose plans,  accountants  and  economists  with  endless  col- 
umns of  figures  and  ingeniously  plotted  graphs  and 
curves,  managers  of  state  farms,  chairmen  of  collective 
farms,  representatives  from  cooperatives,  the  transport, 
labor  unions,  educational  institutions— callers  without 
end. 

Not  infrequently  the  callers  would  begin  to  pour  in 
even  before  Sluchak  was  dressed.  And  heated  business  dis- 

217 


21 8  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

cussions  would  resound  through  the  half-empty  rooms 
while  Vice-Chairman  of  the  People's  Council  of  Com- 
missars brushed  his  teeth,  gargled  his  throat,  and  pulled 
on  his  breeches.  A  meal  was  never  a  meal  in  this  house- 
hold; it  was  "snatching  a  bite"  in  the  midst  of  some  con- 
ference. It  was  so  in  the  evening,  too.  Always  working, 
always  on  the  go,  always  in  the  thick  of  a  "campaign." 

The  first  time  I  met  him,  I  did  not  catch  his  name.  I 
did  not  know  his  official  position.  The  conversation  turned 
to  the  then  unfolding  "cultural  campaign."  Sluchak  spoke 
so  enthusiastically  about  the  victories  on  the  Tadjik  cul- 
tural front  that  I  was  certain  he  was  a  native.  My  aston- 
ishment was  great  when  I  discovered  that  he  was  a  Jew 
from  Gomel.  This  was  strange  enough.  But  even  stranger 
were  his  enthusiasm  and  complete  identification  with  his 
subject.  He  actually  spoke  of  "our"  culture,  when  he 
meant  Tadjik  culture. 

Apparently  my  companions  were  surprised  too,  for  one 
of  them  remarked:  "The  way  you  spoke,  I  surely  thought 
you  were  a  Tadjik."  "Not  a  Tadjik,  but  a  Bolshevik," 
corrected  Sluchak.  In  Tadjikistan,  he  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain, the  Soviet  task  of  overtaking  and  surpassing  the 
capitalist  countries— a  task  common  to  all  the  republics 
in  the  Soviet  Union— was  particularly  difficult  because  of 
the  great  cultural  backwardness  of  the  population.  The 
government,  therefore,  had  the  additional  and  immedi- 
ately urgent  task  of  removing,  in  the  briefest  possible 
time,  the  cultural  and  economic  inequality  between  the 
Tadjik  people  and  the  peoples  of  the  other  republics  in 
the  Union.  This  meant  that  the  rate  of  development  of 
Tadjikistan's  national  economy  and,  primarily ,  of  its  so- 
cial and  cultural  life,  had  to  be  much  greater  than  in  the 
rest  of  the  Union,  so  that  this  backward  country  might 
catch  up  with  her  sister  republics  and  together  with  them 
overtake  and  surpass  the  capitalist  countries.  Accordingly, 
Sluchak  assured  us  that  it  was  not  as  a  Jew  or  a  Russian 
or  a  Tadjik  that  he  spoke,  but  as  a  Bolshevik— a  Bolshevik 
who  realized  that  "a  victory  on  any  of  the  Soviet  Union's 
cultural  fronts  was  a  victory  for  Bolshevism." 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  21 Q 

When  Sluchak's  use  of  the  word  "primarily"  was  chal- 
lenged by  some  of  my  Communist  companions,  his  an- 
swer was  illuminating. 

"The  precedence  I  have  given  to  cultural  over  material 
advance  must,  of  course,  be  understood  in  the  sense  of 
my  having  placed  the  end  anterior  to  the  means.  The  end 
is  a  nobler  and  richer  life,  a  happier  humanity.  The  means 
are  a  thorough  and  complete  change  in  the  material,  the 
economic  base  of  the  social  structure.  My  use  of  the  word 
'primarily'  was,  strictly  speaking,  wrong.  However,  there 
is  some  psychological  explanation.  Subconsciously,  per- 
haps, I  stressed  the  aim  first  because  in  my  own  life,  and 
I  suspect  it  holds  true  of  most  of  our  comrades,  the  con- 
stant awareness  of  the  aim  has  served  as  incentive  and 
justification  during  the  most  crucial  periods." 

Here  Sluchak  walked  over  to  the  bookshelf  and  pulled 
out  a  well-thumbed  paper-covered  collection  of  Com- 
munist Party  Resolutions.  He  swiftly  turned  the  pages, 
glanced  through  a  couple  of  them,  and  obviously  finding 
something  to  support  his  argument,  smiled  mischievously: 

"You,  comrades,  are  finding  fault  with  my  formulation. 
Now  listen  to  the  Resolution  of  the  Twelfth  Congress  of 
the  Russian  Communist  Party,  passed  in  1923.  Here  it  is, 
on  the  National  Question,  Section  One.  I'll  read  only  part 
of  it: 

"The  legal  national  equality  achieved  by  the  Oc- 
tober Revolution  is  a  great  gain  for  the  peoples,  but 
it  alone  does  not  solve  the  whole  national  problem. 
A  number  of  republics  and  peoples,  which  have  not 
passed,  or  have  only  to  a  small  extent  passed,  through 
the  stage  of  capitalism,  which  have  no  proletariat  or 
only  a  very  small  proletariat,  and  which,  accordingly, 
are  economically  and  culturally  backward,  are  not  in 
a  position  to  make  full  use  of  the  rights  and  oppor- 
tunities conferred  upon  them  by  national  equality 
and  are  unable  to  rise  to  a  higher  level  of  develop- 
ment and  thus  overtake  the  more  advanced  nations, 
without  effective  and  prolonged  outside  help.  The 
causes  of  this  actual  inequality  lie  not  only  in  the  his- 


22O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

tory  of  these  nations,  but  also  in  the  policy  of  the 
Czarist  government  and  of  the  Russian  bourgeoisie, 
whose  endeavor  it  was  to  transform  the  outlying 
provinces  exclusively  into  sources  of  raw  material 
exploited  by  the  industrially  developed  central  re- 
gions. It  is  impossible  to  abolish  this  inequality  and 
eradicate  this  heritage  in  a  short  period,  in  one  or 
two  years.  The  Tenth  Congress  of  our  Party  noted 
that  'the  abolition  of  actual  national  inequality  is  a 
long  process  demanding  an  obstinate  and  persistent 
struggle  against  all  survivals  of  national  oppression 
and  national  slavery/  But  abolished  it  must  be.  And 
it  can  be  abolished  only  by  the  Russian  proletariat 
rendering  effective  and  prolonged  assistance  to  the 
backward  nations  of  the  Union  in  their  economic 
and  cultural  advancement.  This  assistance  must  con- 
sist primarily  in  the  adoption  of  a  number  of  prac- 
tical measures  for  the  creation  of  industrial  centers 
in  the  republics  of  the  nationalities  which  were  for- 
merly subjected  to  oppression,  and  in  drawing  the 
greatest  possible  number  of  the  local  population  into 
this  work.  Finally,  as  indicated  by  the  resolution  of 
the  Tenth  Congress,  this  assistance  must  proceed  side 
by  side  with  the  struggle  of  the  laboring  masses  for 
the  consolidation  of  their  social  positions  as  against 
the  exploiting  elements,  both  native  and  from  out- 
side. Unless  this  is  done  no  hopes  can  be  entertained 
of  establishing  proper  and  stable  cooperation  between 
the  nations  within  a  single  federative  state.  Hence, 
the  second  immediate  duty  of  our  Party  is  to  struggle 
for  the  abolition  of  the  actual  inequality  of  nationali- 
ties and  for  raising  the  cultural  and  economic  level  of 
the  backward  nations. 

"Here  you  have  it— 'cultural  and  economic.'  In  the  con- 
cluding sentence  'cultural'  is  mentioned  first.  Not  the 
means  but  the  end,"  said  Sluchak  triumphantly.  Seeing, 
however,  that  his  foreign  comrades  felt  a  little  sheepish, 
he  hastened  to  console  them  by  pointing  out  that  in  their 
actual  practice,  even  as  the  Resolution  showed,  the  Bol- 
sheviks placed  chief  emphasis  on  the  means. 

This  is  Leninist  practice.  The  Bolsheviks  hold  that  the 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  221 

cultural  and  psychological  aspects  of  life  are  "superstruc- 
tures," that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  "immutable  human 
nature,"  and  they  are  out  to  change  the  economic  and 
social  foundations  of  society  in  the  conviction  that  they 
will  thus  bring  about  corresponding  changes  in  the  psy- 
chological and  cultural  superstructures.  As  regards  cul- 
tural innovations,  they  employ  strategy,  leveling  their 
first,  direct  and  most  powerful  attacks  at  the  determining, 
i.e.  the  economic,  factors.  But  the  Bolsheviks  are  not  crude 
materialists.  They  are  Marxists.  They  look  at  life  dia- 
lectically.  Their  conception  of  social  "structures"  and 
"superstructures"  is  monistic:  there  is  no  rigid  line  of 
demarcation— the  sap  of  life  runs  up  and  down;  there  is 
an  eternal  give  and  take.  In  the  social  complex,  they  real- 
ize, psychological  and  cultural  patterns,  though  deter- 
mined by  economic  patterns,  in  turn  affect  those  patterns. 
This  being  the  case,  it  is  obvious  that  the  Bolsheviks  could 
not  ignore,  even  from  the  very  outset,  psychology  and  cul- 
ture. Their  efforts  on  these  fronts  have  been  persistent.  In 
a  tense  revolutionary  situation,  they  have  found,  clearness 
and  firmness  of  purpose,  tempered  by  intelligence,  cau- 
tion, elasticity,  and  above  all  genuine  sympathy  are  abso- 
lute prerequisites  for  any  effective  changes,  especially  on 
the  cultural  front.  Besides  vested  interests  to  combat,  there 
were  native  prejudices  to  be  taken  into  account— tradi- 
tions, customs,  habits,  faiths,  superstitions,  and  fears. 

Naturally,  some  things  required  less  delicate  treatment 
than  others.  It  all  depended  on  the  ease  with  which  the 
government  could  demonstrate  to  the  masses  the  advan- 
tages and  desirability  of  a  specific  change,  and  that  de- 
pended on  the  depth  of  the  prevailing  prejudices  against 
such  change.  On  the  whole  it  is  safe  to  say  that  in  their 
work  the  Bolsheviks  had  to  be  exceedingly  subtle  and  dip- 
lomatic. This  was  particularly  true  in  Central  Asia,  and 
especially  in  Tadjikistan,  where  equilibrium,  when  estab- 
lished, was  rendered  highly  unstable  by  the  proximity 
of  vigilant  English  imperialism  and  by  tireless  anti- 
Communist  propaganda. 


222  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

National  in  Form,  Socialist  in  Content 

In  our  conversations  with  Sluchak,  we  would  often  re- 
vert back  to  the  problem  of  culture,  especially  national 
culture.  Once  one  of  my  companions  expressed  amuse- 
ment over  the  grotesque  forms  which  Bolshevism  has  as- 
sumed in  some  of  the  remoter  regions  of  Central  Asia- 
Communists  going  to  the  mosque,  members  of  the  Party 
clinging  to  all  kinds  of  superstitions  which  harked  back  to 
pre-Moslem  days,  to  magic  and  Shamanism. 

"This  does  not  worry  us,"  Sluchak  assured  him.  "Our 
first  test  in  these  backward  regions  is  this:  Is  the  fellow 
with  us  in  the  matter  of  taking  away  the  lands  from  the 
beys,  is  he  with  us  in  the  matter  of  collectivization  and  in- 
dustrialization, is  he  ready  to  fight  for  our  program?  If  he 
is,  he  is  eligible  for  Party  membership.  Don't  you  see?  We 
must  be  flexible  in  approaching  the  masses.  We  have  the 
responsibility  of  reconstructing  a  whole  society,  and  we 
cannot  permit  ourselves  the  comfort  of  sectarianism.  Here 
acceptance  of  Marxist  and  Leninist  materialist  ideas  is  not 
a  prerequisite  for  Party  membership,  but  it  invariably 
happens  that  a  few  months  in  the  Party  result  in  a  gradual 
acceptance  of  our  ideas.  When  a  native  is  drawn  into  the 
Party,  he  is  much  more  amenable  to  our  influence  and 
teaching.  We  are  in  a  transition  period.  Naturally,  you 
encounter  some  grotesque  specimens." 

Another  time,  Sluchak  and  I  had  a  long  discussion  as  to 
the  wisdom  of  Bolshevik  emphasis  on  the  development  of 
national  cultures.  My  feeling  was  that  such  emphasis  was 
bound  to  lead  to  greater  cultural  differentiation,  to  a  les- 
sening of  mutual  understanding,  increased  friction  and 
disunity.  I  confessed  that  I  was  quite  irritated  in  the 
Ukraine  when  all  theaters,  moving  pictures,  signs  in  the 
shops,  and  businesses  and  offices  employed  the  Ukraianian 
language.  There  was  a  time  when  one  could  go  to  Kiev  or 
to  Kharkov  or  to  Odessa  and  feel  that  one  was  in  a  Rus- 
sian city.  Indeed,  the  cultured  Ukrainians  used  the 
Russian  language  almost  exclusively.  And  writers  like 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  223 

Gogol,  Dahl,  Korolenko— Ukrainians  all— contributed  to 
the  enrichment  of  literature  by  employing  Russian,  a 
language  spoken  by  many  more  millions  than  was  the 
Ukrainian  language.  Now  Russian  has  become  a  foreign 
tongue  in  the  Ukraine! 

"If  you  were  a  Russian,  we  would  call  you  a  Great 
Russian  chauvinist  and  we  would  make  it  rather  hot  for 
you,"  Sluchak  laughed. 

Following  good  Bolshevik  precedent,  however,  I  tried 
to  defend  my  position  by  a  reference  to  Lenin.  Long  be- 
fore the  Revolution,  in  his  polemics  with  the  Jewish  Bund, 
Lenin  declared  that  national  culture  was  a  bourgeois  con- 
cept and  that  socialism,  together  with  abolishing  national 
oppression,  would  remove  all  national  barriers  and  that 
the  interests  of  all  nationalities  would  combine  in  a  single 
whole. 

"But  this  is  a  mechanical  interpretation  of  what  Lenin 
said,"  exclaimed  Sluchak.  "You  take  no  cognizance  of  time 
or  place.  Furthermore  your  arguments  have  been  excel- 
lently answered  by  Stalin."  Jumping  up  impetuously  and 
pulling  out  the  second  volume  of  Stalin's  Leninism,  Slu- 
chak pointed  out  the  passage  where  the  Communist  leader, 
after  denning  Great-Russian  chauvinism  as  "the  desire  to 
ignore  national  differences  in  language,  culture,  mode  of 
life . . .  the  desire  to  prepare  for  the  liquidation  of  the 
national  republics  and  regions  . . .  the  desire  to  undermine 
the  principle  of  national  equality,"  proceeds  to  castigate 
those  "deviators"  who  "take  their  stand  on  the  argument 
that,  as  with  the  victory  of  socialism  nations  will  fuse  into 
a  single  whole,  while  their  national  language  will  be  fused 
into  a  single  common  tongue,  the  time  has  come  to  liqui- 
date national  differences  and  renounce  the  policy  of  devel- 
oping the  national  culture  of  the  peoples  which  were 
formerly  oppressed." 

There  it  was,  black  on  white.  My  arguments,  stamped 
as  "the  most  subtle  and,  therefore,  the  most  dangerous 
form  of  Great-Russian  nationalism"! 

"Read  on,  read  on,"  urged  Sluchak.  "Stalin  also  answers 
your  reference  to  Lenin  very  specifically." 


224  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

I  read:  "In  the  first  place,  Lenin  never  said  that  national 
differences  must  disappear  and  national  tongues  be  fused 
in  one  common  tongue  within  the  boundaries  of  a  single 
state,  before  the  victory  of  socialism  all  over  the  world. 
Lenin,  on  the  contrary,  said  quite  the  opposite,  namely, 
that  'the  national  and  state  distinctions  between  peoples 
and  countries  . .  .  will  exist  for  a  very  long  time  even  after 
the  establishment  of  the  dictatorship  of  the  proletariat  on 
a  world  scale/  How  can  people  refer  to  Lenin  and  forget 
this  basic  statement  of  his?" 

"Don't  you  see,"  Sluchak  further  pressed  his  point,  "we 
communists  do  not  discuss  'national  culture'  in  the  ab- 
stract. For  us  this  is  a  concrete  problem  in  a  concrete  situ- 
ation. And  we  have  to  deal  with  it  concretely.  In  order  to 
have  a  Soviet  Union  at  all,  in  order  to  gain  and  hold  the 
sympathy  of  all  the  peoples  that  had  been  oppressed  by 
czarism,  in  order  to  make  them  love  and  understand  the 
Soviet  Union,  it  was  essential  that  we  make  the  Soviet 
government  not  a  Russian  but  an  international  govern- 
ment. We,  of  course,  are  interested  in  socialism  and  not 
in  national  differences.  But  we  realize  that  the  ultimate 
fusion  of  nationalities  under  socialism  is  a  matter  of  very 
many  years  and  that  the  road  to  that  fusion  is  through  the 
complete  liberation  of  all  peoples.  We  must  reach  the  na- 
tive masses,  the  peasants,  the  workers,  and  the  only  way 
we  can  reach  them  is  through  their  own  national  language, 
the  only  language  they  know,  and  their  own  national  cul- 
tures, the  only  cultures  for  which  they  have  a  genuine 
love.  Accordingly,  not  only  the  schools,  but  all  our  institu- 
tions and  organs,  both  Party  and  Soviet,  have  had  to  be- 
come naturalized  step  by  step.  They  have  had  to  employ 
the  language  understood  by  the  masses  and  take  into  con- 
sideration the  habits  and  customs  of  each  given  people. 
Only  such  a  policy  has  enabled  the  Soviet  government  to 
function  not  as  a  Russian  but  as  an  international  govern- 
ment understood  by,  and  near  and  dear  to,  the  toiling 
masses  of  all  the  republics,  particularly  to  the  nations 
which  have  been  economically  and  culturally  backward!" 

My  Norwegian  companion,   Luyn,   now  took   up  the 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  225 

argument  with  Sluchak.  While  admitting  that  the  Bol- 
shevik cultural  policy  was  wise  and  necessary  as  an  initial 
step  in  the  creation  of  the  Soviet  Union,  he  still  failed 
to  see  how  the  perpetuation  of  that  policy  would  bring 
about  the  ultimate  fusion  of  peoples  under  socialism. 

In  reply  to  Luyn,  Sluchak  gently  chided  his  foreign 
comrades  for  soaring  in  the  realm  of  the  superstructures 
without  occasionally  alighting  on  the  economic  and  social 
foundations. 

Had  not  feudal  economic  and  social  relations  in  Europe 
created  a  specific  feudal  culture  which  even  then  tran- 
scended national  lines?  And  had  not  capitalist  economic 
and  social  relations  created  a  quite  distinct  bourgeois  cul- 
ture? Indeed  the  proverbial  visitor  from  Mars  would  find 
infinitely  more  similarities  in  the  cultures  of,  say,  Italy, 
Germany,  Finland,  Japan,  and  other  capitalist  countries 
than  he  would  find  differences.  This,  despite  the  constant 
incitements  of  national  and  religious  suspicions  and 
hatreds.  Now  what  was  the  situation  in  the  Soviet  Union? 
argued  Sluchak.  Here  the  economic  foundations  of  society 
in  all  the  nationalities  were  basically  changed.  Exploita- 
tion, the  profit  motive,  private  property  in  the  means  of 
production  were  being  rapidly  eliminated.  The  socialist 
proletariat  and  the  industrialized  and  collectivized  peas- 
antry, which  was  ideologically  coming  closer  and  closer 
to  the  proletariat,  were  in  power  among  all  the  Soviet 
peoples.  The  Soviet  Union  was  already  creating  a  classless 
society,  and  it  was  advancing  towards  the  economic  and 
cultural  equality  of  all  the  peoples  in  its  fold.  Was  it  un- 
reasonable to  believe  then  that  the  Union  of  Socialist 
Soviet  Republics  would  in  the  course  of  time  evolve  a 
socialist  culture  quite  distinct  from  the  feudal  or  bour- 
geois ones?  Look  at  Stalinabad!  Of  course,  old  forms  did 
tend  to  persist,  but  already  a  new  content  was  being  poured 
into  them.  This  was  a  part  of  the  transition.  Hence,  so 
many  cultural  hybrids  in  the  land.  With  a  socialist  econ- 
omy assured,  with  all  causes  for  national  hatred,  jealousies 
and  suspicion  removed,  with  travel  made  infinitely  easier 


226  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

and  encouraged,  with  internationalism  constantly  im- 
planted in  the  psychology  of  every  Soviet  child,  what 
reason  was  there  to  believe  that  in  time  a  fusion  of  peoples 
would  not  be  effected? 

But  this  would  take  a  very  long  time.  It  would  come 
about  gradually,  naturally,  not  through  administrative 
pressure.  All  the  Bolsheviks  could  do  was  to  create  the  con- 
ditions which  would  make  this  normal  development 
possible. 

Meanwhile,  suggested  Sluchak,  the  Soviet  course  during 
the  transition  period,  the  proletarian  dictatorship,  had 
been  very  fully  worked  out  in  Stalin's  The  Political  Tasks 
of  the  University  of  the  Peoples  of  the  East: 

But  what  is  national  culture?  How  are  we  to  make 
national  culture  compatible  with  proletarian  cul- 
ture? . . .  How  are  we  to  reconcile  the  development  of 
national  culture,  the  development  of  schools  and 
courses  in  the  native  languages,  and  the  training  of 
Communist  cadres  from  among  the  local  people,  with 
the  building  of  proletarian  culture?  Is  this  not  an 
impenetrable  contradiction?  Of  course  not!  We  are 
now  building  proletarian  culture.  That  is  absolutely 
true.  But  it  is  also  true  that  proletarian  culture,  which 
is  socialist  in  content,  is  assuming  different  forms  and 
different  means  of  expression  among  the  various  peo- 
ples who  have  been  drawn  into  the  work  of  socialist 
construction,  according  to  their  languages,  their  local 
customs,  and  so  forth.  Proletarian  in  content  and  na- 
tional in  form— such  is  the  human  culture  toward 
which  socialism  is  marching.  Proletarian  culture  does 
not  cancel  national  culture,  but  gives  it  content.  On 
the  other  hand,  national  culture  does  not  cancel  pro- 
letarian culture,  but  gives  it  form.  The  slogan  of  "na- 
tional culture"  was  a  bourgeois  slogan  so  long  as  the 
bourgeoisie  was  in  power  and  the  consolidation  of 
nations  proceeded  under  the  aegis  of  the  bourgeois 
system.  The  slogan  of  "national  culture"  became  a 
proletarian  slogan  when  the  proletariat  came  into 
power  and  the  consolidation  of  nations  began  to  pro- 
ceed under  the  aegis  of  the  Soviet  power. 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  227 

In  Happy  Exile 

Once,  as  we  sat  over  a  glass  of  native  wine,  Sluchak 
looked  so  nervous  and  worn  that  some  one  in  our  group 
suggested  that  it  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  if  he  took  a 
vacation. 

His  eyes  lit  up:  "A  vacation!  I  haven't  had  a  vacation  for 
years!  If  I  ever  get  one,  the  first  thing  I'll  do  is  fly  to 
Moscow— theaters,  music,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And 
next  I  would  go  to  Minsk  to  see  my  mother.  I  haven't  seen 
her  for  over  eight  years  now,  and  I  am  anxious  to  see  her. 
Poor  woman,  after  my  father  was  killed  in  the  Gomel 
pogrom,  she  did  everything  to  bring  us  up  as  good  Jews. 
And  how  grieved  she  was  to  see  me,  a  student  of  the  Tal- 
mud, intended  for  the  Rabbinate,  become  a  revolutionist, 
a  goy.  When  I  joined  the  Bolsheviks  she  cried  bitterly, 
though  she  said  nothing— I  had  always  suspected  that  her 
opposition  was  caused  more  by  her  fear  for  my  life  than 
by  actual  dislike  of  the  Revolution.  After  all,  a  Jewess 
whose  husband  had  been  killed  in  a  pogrom  was  not  likely 
to  cherish  tender  feelings  for  the  czar  and  his  regime.  My 
sister  writes  me  that  the  old  woman  is  now  quite  recon- 
ciled to  the  new  life.  In  her  relations  with  God  she  has 
remained  steadfast.  She  goes  to  synagogue  regularly,  keeps 
kosher  house,  observes  all  the  fasts  and  holidays;  but  po- 
litically she  has  become  quite  a  Bolshevik." 

Sluchak  laughed  with  a  tenderness  one  scarcely  suspected 
in  him.  What  a  mighty  thing  is  Revolution!  How  it  had 
hammered  and  hardened  this  obviously  sensitive  being 
into  the  sharp,  steel-like  instrument  of  the  proletarian  dic- 
tatorship he  now  was.  In  the  smithy  of  the  Revolution, 
this  child  of  the  ghetto,  this  student  of  the  Talmud  in- 
tended for  the  Rabbinate,  had  been  forged  into  a  Bolshe- 
vik, a  military  hero,  into  a  torch-bearer  of  Communist 
Internationalism  on  the  borders  of  Afghanistan,  India, 
and  China. 

When  Sluchak  was  asked  how  he  happened  to  land  in 
that  remote  periphery  of  the  Soviet  territory  in  Asia,  he 


228  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

answered  with  a  long  disquisition  on  the  manner  in  which 
the  Bolsheviks  organized  the  government  of  Tadjikistan, 
and  on  Tadjikistan's  early  need  of  cultured  non-Russian 
Bolsheviks  to  aid  in  the  work.  Only  toward  the  end  did 
he  mention  himself  and  how  he  happened  to  be  in  Tadji- 
kistan. He  was  here,  because  he  was  a  Bolshevik  represent- 
ing a  national  minority  and  as  such  more  able  to 
appreciate  the  problems  and  aspirations  of  other  national 
minorities.  He  had  fought  three  years  in  the  Civil  War; 
during  the  famine  he  worked  in  the  Volga  region;  then  he 
was  shifted  from  one  job  into  another,  in  White  Russia, 
the  Caucasus,  and  finally  in  Moscow.  But  in  Moscow  he 
remained  only  a  short  time.  Just  as  he  had  begun  to  take 
things  a  little  easier,  to  permit  himself  an  occasional  eve- 
ning in  the  theater  or  the  opera,  the  Party  ordered  him  to 
Tadjikistan. 

Sluchak  had  scarcely  heard  of  Tadjikistan  before.  He 
knew  it  only  as  a  wild  and  primitive  country  of  moun- 
tains, deserts,  bandits,  and  nomads,  somewhere  near  India. 
And  how  he  hated  to  leave  Moscow,  the  center  of  every- 
thing in  the  Union,  and  go  to  some  forsaken  place  in  Cen- 
tral Asia!  He  felt  hurt  and  resentful.  Tadjikistan  meant 
exile  to  him.  But  orders  were  orders.  He  came  here  and 
plunged  straight  into  the  work,  into  the  very  thick  of  it. 
At  first  he  worked  furiously,  simply  to  forget  his  resent- 
ment, but  the  deeper  he  became  involved  in  the  work,  the 
more  absorbing,  the  more  fascinating  he  found  it.  This 
was  his  third  year  here,  and  now  nothing  could  tempt  him 
to  leave  Tadjikistan  except  on  a  short  vacation.  "If  one 
wants  to  work,  to  build,"  said  Sluchak,  "Tadjikistan  is  the 
place.  If  one  wants  to  fight— Tadjikistan  affords  ample  op- 
portunity for  that,  too.  Even  now,  in  1931,  we  have  our 
hands  full  with  Ibrahim  Bek  and  his  Basmach  bands. 
What  makes  this  place  so  alluring  is  that  the  struggle  here 
is  extraordinarily  intense— extraordinary  even  in  the  Soviet 
Union.  You  have  done  well  to  come  here.  Geography,  his- 
tory, religion,  customs— everything  seems  to  have  conspired 
to  make  this  obscure  place  the  ideal  spot  for  any  one  who 
wishes  to  study  Bolshevism  both  as  an  international  force 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN    TADJIKISTAN  229 

and  a  domestic  generator  of  highly  charged  economic, 
political,  and  social  drama.  First,  we  are  at  the  gates  of 
Hindustan,  Afghanistan,  China,  countries  with  consider- 
able Tadjik  populations.  Second,  we  have  to  deal  with  the 
most  fanatical  Moslems  in  the  world.  Third,  it  is  an  inac- 
cessible mountainous  country— tucked  away  in  the  Hissar 
and  Kuliab  valleys  and  hidden  among  the  Zeravshan,  Altai 
and  Pamir  mountain  ranges— and  native  counter-revolu- 
tionary bands  supported  and  armed  from  the  outside  have 
an  excellent  opportunity  to  harass  us  constantly.  Fourth, 
we  have  here  an  involved  national  question,  and  particu- 
larly and  quite  naturally  a  tendency  toward  Tadjik 
chauvinism.  Fifth,  Tadjikistan  was  an  incredibly  ignorant 
and  impoverished  country.  Only  one  half  of  one  per  cent 
of  the  population  was  literate.  And  you  can  gauge  the 
effect  of  the  revolution  and  the  Basmach  movement  on  the 
life  of  the  people  by  the  fact  that  at  the  end  of  the  Civil 
War  Eastern  Bokhara  had  lost  72  per  cent  of  the  sown 
area,  over  60  per  cent  of  the  cattle,  and  25  per  cent  of  the 
population.  There  was  a  great  exodus  of  the  more  prosper- 
ous peasant  families.  Two  hundred  and  six  thousand 
people  (43,000  peasant  households)  with  stocks  and  cattle 
and  implements  migrated  to  Afghanistan.  We  found  here 
a  completely  devastated  country,  and  we  have  been  striv- 
ing to  transform  it  in  as  brief  a  time  as  possible,  and 
despite  all  the  Ibrahim  Beks,  into  a  highly  mechanized, 
collectivized,  and  industrialized  center  of  Egyptian 
cotton." 


Ibrahim  Bek  Again! 

Sluchak's  frequent  references  to  Ibrahim  Bek  provoked  a 
series  of  questions  from  the  group.  Sluchak  dismissed  the 
whole  affair  as  rather  inconsequential,  a  brief  but  unpleas- 
ant interlude  in  the  republic's  march  toward  collectiviza- 
tion and  cotton.  According  to  him,  minor  Basmach  raids 
from  across  the  Afghan  border  had  occurred  here  regularly 
since  the  formation  of  the  Tadjik  government.  Ibrahim 


23O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Bek  was  still  the  most  important  Basmach  leader.  His  fol- 
lowing among  the  thousands  of  kulaks  and  beys  who  had 
emigrated  to  Afghanistan  after  the  Revolution  was  so  great 
that  he  had  begun  to  play  quite  a  role  in  intertribal 
Afghan  struggles,  lending  his  forces  and  prestige  to  this  or 
that  Afghan  chieftain.  By  the  time  Amannula  Khan,  the 
Afghan  king,  was  overthrown  and  Nadir  Khan  seized  the 
reins  of  the  Afghan  government,  Ibrahim  felt  sufficiently 
powerful  to  oppose  the  new  king.  There  were  rumors  that 
Great  Britain  was  backing  Ibrahim  Bek,  intending  to 
utilize  him  in  the  creation  of  a  buffer  zone  between  Soviet 
Tadjikistan  and  Afghanistan.  The  zone  was  to  be  settled 
by  Ibrahim's  followers,  and  he  himself  was  to  be  the  ruler 
of  Britain's  choice. 

However,  Ibrahim  Bek  was  defeated  by  Nadir  Khan  and 
was  forced  to  retreat  to  the  north,  where  for  three  and  a 
half  months  he  had  complete  sway  over  the  Karategin  and 
Badakhshan  provinces.  But  he  could  not  withstand  the 
pressure  of  Nadir  Khan's  troops.  Early  in  April,  1931,  a 
fierce  battle  on  the  banks  of  the  River  Pianj  left  Ibrahim 
Bek's  forces  completely  smashed.  When  his  warriors  and 
their  families  and  cattle  tried  to  cross  the  Pianj  to  the 
Soviet  side,  they  were  attacked  by  the  Afghans  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  river.  Hundreds  more  were  massacred.  Women 
and  children  and  cattle  were  drowned.  Those  who  man- 
aged to  cross  were  received  by  the  Soviet  authorities  with 
serious  misgivings. 

The  misgivings  were  wholly  justified.  Beaten  in  Afghan- 
istan, Ibrahim  Bek  had  conceived  the  notion  of  restoring 
his  fortunes  by  invading  Soviet  Tadjikistan  which  was  in 
the  throes  of  the  collectivization  campaign.  Ibrahim  relied 
on  reports  of  peasant  opposition  to  collectivization,  and 
he  had  hoped  that  the  invasion  of  Soviet  territory  by  a 
large  force  might  provide  the  impetus  for  a  widespread 
counter-revolutionary  uprising.  Like  most  people  in  Tad- 
jikistan, Sluchak  was  inclined  to  credit  Great  Britain  with 
the  plan.  He  maintained,  and  I  subsequently  heard  many 
other  people  in  Tadjikistan  say  the  same  thing,  that  the 
ostensibly  peaceful  reimmigration  of  6,000  people  on  the 


BUILDING  SOCIALISM  IN  TADJIKISTAN  231 

25th  of  March,  1931,  had  been  a  maneuver  of  Ibrahim's  to 
create  a  strong  anti-Soviet  base  for  himself  on  Soviet  terri- 
tory, especially  in  his  native  Lokai  Valley. 

Soon  after  the  coming  of  the  6,000,  a  long  proclamation, 
printed  on  good  paper,  and  decorated  with  Ibrahim  Bek's 
seal,  began  to  circulate  in  the  villages  of  Central  Asia. 

The  proclamation,  displayed  to  us  by  Sluchak,  had  been 
issued  "In  the  name  of  Almighty  God."  It  opened  with  a 
verse  from  the  Koran,  "With  God's  help,  victory  draws 
nigh."  It  read: 

To  all  the  peoples  inhabiting  the  territory  of  Rus- 
sia, Turkestan,  Tartarstan,  Kazakstan,  Kirghizstan, 
Uzbekistan,  and  Tadjikistan,  greetings  from  Divon 
Bek  and  Tachasm  Bachi,  Mohammed  Bek,  also  from 
his  Majesty  Emir  Alim  Khan! 

We  herewith  recall  to  your  mind  that  at  the  time 
the  Russian  Czar  Nicholas  and  Emir  Alim  Khan  were 
reigning,  all  nations  lived  happily  and  peacefully  on 
their  respective  territories  and  were  allowed  freely  to 
practice  their  religion.  But  in  the  year  1295  Czar 
Nicholas,  and  in  the  year  1298  Emir  Alim  Khan  were 
removed  from  their  thrones,  violently,  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  Lenin  (his  name  be  cursed). . . . 

Ibrahim  accused  the  "representatives  of  the  government 
of  Lenin,  cursed  be  his  name"  of  breaking  their  promise 
to  rule  "fairly  and  justly."  He  presented  a  long  bill  of 
complaints:  The  Bolsheviks  were  dishonoring  the  Moslem 
women  and  turning  them  into  harlots;  they  were  taking 
the  lands  and  the  water  from  the  rightful  owners,  forcing 
the  poor  peasants  to  plant  cotton  instead  of  corn,  thus 
spreading  hunger  and  devastation  through  the  land.  They 
were  foisting  new-fangled  iron  instruments  and  machines 
("bought  in  foreign  lands"!)  on  the  peasants,  for  which 
the  peasants  had  to  pay  with  their  last  kopeks;  taxes  were 
crushing  and  were  being  collected  by  force.  The  bazaars 
were  ruined,  prices  were  sky-high,  and  the  "poor  peasants 
can  obtain  goods  only  by  submitting  to  insults  and  in- 
juries." The  Bolsheviks  were  deceiving  the  peasants  by 
forcing  them  into  collective  farms  and  depriving  them  of 


232  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

their  horses  and  cattle.  Besides  seizing  their  property,  the 
Bolsheviks  were  planning  to  exile  the  peasants  "to  far- 
away lands."  That  was  not  all.  The  "treacherous  and  horri- 
ble," the  "satanic"  government  would  soon  begin  to  de- 
stroy mosques  and  prayer  houses  and  sacred  books,  to  burn 
the  dead,  to  take  the  women  away  from  their  "masters" 
and  force  them  into  the  Communist  Party  and  make  har- 
lots of  them.  Before  long  any  one  daring  to  even  so  much 
as  breathe  the  name  of  God  would  be  mercilessly  destroyed. 
Ibrahim's  proclamation  also  announced  his  interna- 
tional connections: 

As  these  things  were  developing  through  the  crimi- 
nal policy  of  the  Bolsheviks,  the  meeting  held  Feb- 
ruary 8,  1928,  by  the  League  of  Nations  in  Berlin 
[sic!],  where  a  representative  of  the  refugees  from 
Russian  Turkestan  was  present,  as  well  as  the  session 
of  the  League  of  Nations  held  in  December  1929  par- 
ticipated in  by  representatives  from  America,  France, 
Japan,  Germany,  Persia,  Turkey,  Italy,  Afghanistan 
and  Poland  [the  name  of  England  is  discreetly  omit- 
ted], resolved,  in  accordance  with  the  statements  of 
the  representatives  of  the  emigrants  from  Russian 
Turkestan,  and  with  the  new  political  information 
furnished  in  the  year  1930  by  Comrades  Trotsky  and 
Zinoviev,  to  abolish  the  Party's  government  in  Russia 
as  well  as  in  Bokhara,  and  to  organize  instead  a 
monarchy. 

"Empowered"  by  his  Highness  Emir  Alim  Khan  and  by 
the  above-mentioned  nations  "to  raise  armies  of  the  re- 
quired strength  on  all  borders,"  Ibrahim  urged  the  peas- 
ants of  Central  Asia  to  advance  upon  Soviet  Bokhara  and 
"invite  in  writing  the  whole  Red  Army,  the  whole  militia, 
all  the  workers'  fighting  detachments,  and  all  of  the  Emir's 
subjects"  to  join  in  the  war  against  the  Reds.  After  prom- 
ising "in  the  name  of  Allah  and  his  prophet ...  to  pardon 
all  those  who  served  the  Bolsheviks,  but  who  had  repented 
in  time,"  Ibrahim's  declaration  concluded:  "Our  aim  is 
clear.  Oppressed  peasants,  we  are  engaged  in  this  war  to 
liberate  you  from  the  Bolshevik  yokel" 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM   IN   TADJIKISTAN 

"The  trouble  with  Ibrahim  Bek,"  Sluchak  commented, 
"is  that  he  does  not  know  Soviet  Tadjikistan,  the  mood 
of  the  Tadjik  masses.  He  is  an  able  leader  and  no  fool.  But, 
like  most  Emigres  even  better  informed  than  he,  Ibrahim 
tends  to  believe  what  he  wishes  to  believe.  Of  course,  the 
proclamation  was  not  written  by  him.  It  must  have  been 
written  by  one  of  his  mullahs,  but  it  no  doubt  expressed 
his  ideas.  Ibrahim  and  his  gang  thought  that  they  could 
undo  what  we  have  done,  that  they  could  return  the  past. 
They  sought  to  take  advantage  of  our  difficulties  during 
the  reconstruction  period.  Backed  by  the  English,  they 
thought  that  they  could  upset  our  spring  sowing  campaign 
and  that  with  the  support  of  the  dissatisfied  elements  in 
the  villages— the  kulaks  and  the  mullahs^they  could  start 
a  counter-revolution  here.  Well,  they  know  better  now. 
We  have  beaten  them  to  a  frazzle.  Ibrahim  Bek  has  not 
been  caught  yet,  but  we  know  where  he  is  and  we'll  get 
him,  too." 


A  Bolshevik  Legend 

To  show  the  utter  fatuousness  of  Ibrahim's  adventure, 
Sluchak  began  to  cite  the  great  achievements  of  Soviet 
Tadjikistan.  "Study  Dushambe  and  Stalinabad,"  he  urged, 
"and  then  make  your  trip  through  the  country  and  you 
will  see  what  the  Soviet  government  has  accomplished 
here.  But  as  you  study,  always  bear  in  mind  that  we  have 
started  here  with  less  than  zero." 

What  Sluchak  said  was  no  idle  boast.  Before  the  revolu- 
tion there  had  been  no  industries  in  Tadjikistan.  In  1931, 
Tadjikistan  had  nine  cotton-ginning  mills,  one  cotton-seed 
oil  factory,  one  volatile  oil  factory,  numerous  flour  mills, 
a  huge  factory  specially  employed  in  preparing  fruit  for 
export,  etc. 

There  was  in  1931  the  beginning  of  a  mining  industry 
—coal,  oil,  and  salt.  The  production  of  Shurab  oil  had 
been  doubled  in  1930,  and  was  expected  to  be  trebled  in 
1931,  and  oil  transportation  had  been  facilitated  by  the 


234  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

new  sixty-five  kilometer  railroad  branch  to  Shurab.  Scien- 
tific commissions  were  studying  the  Karamazar  zinc  mines 
and  the  Nauket  copper  mines.  The  first  was  expected  ulti- 
mately to  yield  ten  thousand  tons  of  zinc  and  the  second 
five  thousand  tons  of  copper  yearly.  The  exploitation  of 
Khanakin  anthracite  had  begun.  A  huge  hydro-electrical 
station  was  being  constructed  on  the  river  Varsob  near 
Stalinabad.  The  most  gigantic  undertaking  was  the  Va- 
khshstroy,  the  analogue  of  the  Ukrainian  Dnieprostroy, 
which  was  planned  to  supply  most  of  the  country  with 
electrical  power  and  with  the  basis  for  a  modern  system  of 
irrigation.  Thirty  thousand  people  had  already  been 
drawn  into  the  domestic  crafts  industries,  of  which  the  silk 
industry  was  the  most  important  and  most  promising.  In 
addition  to  the  silk  factory  employing  one  thousand  peo- 
ple, which  was  already  working  in  Khodjent,  one  of  the 
biggest  silk  factories  in  the  Union,  which  was  to  employ 
three  thousand  Khodjent  women,  was  approaching  com- 
pletion. Another  huge  silk  factory  was  being  built  in 
Stalinabad.  In  1927-28,  the  government  had  put  268,000 
rubles  into  its  industries;  in  1928-29,  1,400,000  rubles;  in 
19%°>  over  10,000,000  rubles;  in  1931  the  figure  was  14,- 
000,000  rubles.  In  1928-29  the  value  of  Tadjikistan's 
manufactured  products  was  10,000,000  rubles;  in  1931, 
51,000,000  rubles.  In  1928-29  the  value  of  Tadjikistan's 
agricultural  products  was  94,000,000  rubles;  in  1931,  153,- 
000,000.  In  1928-29  building  operations  amounted  to 
20,000,000;  in  1931  the  allotted  sum  was  128,000,000. 

Great  progress  had  also  been  made  in  agriculture.  As 
had  been  pointed  out  by  Sluchak,  in  1925  the  sown  area 
was  72  per  cent  lower  than  in  pre-war  days.  This  spelled 
catastrophe.  All  kinds  of  wild  rumors  spread  through  the 
countryside.  Soviet  enemies  went  around  whispering  that 
Tadjikistan  would  never  recover  under  the  Soviet  power, 
that  God  had  inflicted  hunger  upon  the  people  for  accept- 
ing the  "Bolshevois"  that  unless  they  continued  to  strug- 
gle against  the  Communist  regime  the  whole  population 
would  die  out.  A  few  years  passed  and  the  sown  area  was 
greater  than  in  pre-war  days.  And  what  was  particularly 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN 

important  was  the  rapid  extension  of  industrial  crops.  The 
growing  of  cotton,  which  had  almost  ceased  before  1925, 
developed  to  tremendous  proportions— from  thirty-five 
thousand  hectares  in  1914,  the  growing  area  had  fallen  to 
four  thousand  in  1925.  In  1930  the  total  area  had  increased 
to  one  hundred  and  thirty-two  thousand.  The  year  1931 
showed  a  further  25  per  cent  increase  in  the  cotton  area 
of  Tadjikistan. 

The  growth  of  the  cotton  area  here  depended  a  great  deal 
on  irrigation.  In  1929  Tadjikistan  spent  three  million 
rubles  in  round  figures  on  irrigation;  in  1930,  twelve  mil- 
lion rubles,  and  the  budget  for  1931  was  sixty-one  million; 
i.e.,  approximately  fifty  rubles  for  every  inhabitant  in 
Tadjikistan.  And  most  of  that  money  was  obtained  not 
from  taxing  the  local  population  but  from  sums  granted 
by  the  central  government  of  the  Soviet  Union. 

In  the  matter  of  collectivization,  the  intensive  educa- 
tional and  propaganda  campaign  brought  altogether  unex- 
pected results.  By  May  1931  sixty  thousand  out  of  a  total 
of  two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  farms  were  in  collec- 
tives. And  by  June  over  sixty  per  cent  of  the  cotton  lands 
were  collectivized.  The  percentage  of  all  collectivized 
lands  (cotton  and  grain)  was  about  thirty  per  cent.  No 
mean  achievement  this,  when  one  considers  the  backward- 
ness of  the  country,  the  newness  of  the  Soviet  regime  there, 
and  the  bitter  struggle  against  collectivization  carried  on 
by  the  combined  forces  of  reaction  under  the  leadership 
of  Ibrahim  Bek. 

"Of  course,"  Sluchak  said,  "there  are  plenty  of  difficul- 
ties, but  we  overcome  them— advancing  along  the  general 
line  laid  down  by  our  Party,  fighting  simultaneously  the 
opportunists,  the  doubters,  the  creepers,  and  the  chauvi- 
nists on  the  Right,  and  the  infantile,  over-enthusiastic 
babblers  on  the  Left.  Whatever  aspect  of  the  work  you 
tackle,  industrialization,  collectivization,  education,  wom- 
an's emancipation,  cooperation,  transport,  the  problems  of 
religion,  law,  administration,  the  building  of  Stalinabad, 
everything  is  full  of  thrills  and  romance. 

"Even  to  me  the  mere  fact  that  Tadjikistan,  an  obscure 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

little  country  the  size  of  Czecho-Slovakia,  is  one  of  the 
seven  sovereign  constituent  Republics  of  the  Soviet  Union, 
enjoying  a  political  status  on  a  par  with  the  infinitely 
larger  and  incomparably  more  important  economically 
R.  S.  F.  S.  R.,  still  seems  a  legend,  a  myth!  Imagine  what  it 
means  to  the  natives!" 


XIII 
DUSHAMBE  VERSUS  STALINABAD 

Both  Samarkand  and  Kandagar  I  saw, 

And  the   dream  of  the  desert  and  the   bazaar 

I  saw, 

And  one-third  of  the  Mohammedan  world  I  saw, 
And  the  snows  of  the  tall  Pamir  I  saw. 

Canals  I  dug,  and  molded  pottery, 
And  carried  burdens  up   the  mountain's  back, 
Along  steep  paths  I  stumbled  days  and  days 
And  reached  the  mountain's  rocky  peak 

But  never  such  a  wonder  have  I  seen 
As  the  iron  road  to  Dushambe. . . . 

—Tadjik  Song  of  Wonderment. 


Donkeys— Camels— Mullahs— Merchants 

IN  the  morning  sun  the  Dushambe  Bazaar  shimmers  like 
a  vari-colored  Oriental  carpet.  From  the  winding  streets 
and  alleys,  raising  clouds  of  gray  dust,  streams  of  bearded 
natives— peasants,  peddlers,  craftsmen— riding  graceful 
mountain  horses  or  tiny  native  asses,  pour  leisurely  into 
the  teeming  square.  Now  and  then  the  fantastic  curves  of 
a  loaded  camel  undulate  gently  above  the  crowd.  The 
older  Tadjiks  and  Uzbeks  are  dressed  in  their  brightest 
cloaks  and  headgear.  Occasionally  the  snow-white  turban 
of  a  mullah  flutters  in  the  air.  Everywhere  one  sees  sallow 
fakirs  shambling  behind  their  donkeys  heavily  laden  with 
bundles  of  dry  brush  or  sacks  of  grain  or  baskets  of  fruits 
and  berries. 

The  merchants,  the  more  solid  ones,  those  who  own 
places  in  the  double  row  of  stands,  are  spreading  their 
wares— the  cheapest  sorts  of  gaudy  Bokhara  silks  and  skull 


238  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

caps  and  calicoes  and  carpets,  beads,  hand-made  stilettos, 
pins,  needles,  threads,  combs,  moldy  pastries  and  little  tin 
jars  with  all  kinds  of  miracle-working  salves  and  potions. 
Most  of  the  merchants,  however,  have  no  stands  and  they 
spread  out  their  wares  on  the  ground.  One  has  leather  and 
leather-goods,  shoes  especially  adapted  to  mountain  climb- 
ing, overshoes,  wallets,  trinkets.  Another  crouches  near  a 
heap  of  nas,  a  green  tobacco  which  the  natives  always  keep 
in  their  mouths,  and  tobacco  containers  made  of  gourds. 
Still  another  has  a  pile  of  uriuk— small  and  very  sweet 
apricots— or  cherries— it  being  as  yet  too  early  in  the  season 
for  the  pomegranates,  melons  and  grapes  for  which  this 
part  of  the  world  is  so  famous. 

Noise,  shouting,  laughter.  Bargaining. 

For  the  most  part  under  the  open  skies,  but  occasionally 
under  a  huge  umbrella,  are  spread  out  the  tonsorial  estab- 
lishments. Barbers  are  hovering  over  their  kneeling  vic- 
tims, scraping  dull  razors  over  resignedly  lowered  pates. 
Knife  grinders  are  displaying  their  dexterity.  Water  car- 
riers, their  sweating,  long-nozzled  copper  vessels  or  dark 
dripping  water  skins  on  their  shoulders,  are  proclaiming 
the  cooling  properties  of  their  wares. 

In  the  center  of  this  milling  crowd,  sits  a  mountain 
Tadjik,  the  proud  vendor  of  two  huge  chunks  of  ice  which 
he  had  hauled  down  from  that  glacier  that  looms  in  the 
distance.  It  was  a  difficult  task  to  carry  the  ice  from  the 
steep  height  down  the  narrow  and  slippery  mountain 
paths,  but  it  was  worth  the  pains,  for  ice  in  this  torrid  land 
is  rare  and  precious,  and,  judging  by  the  number  of  pur- 
chasers, quite  irresistible. 

A  coffee-colored  lad  is  trying  to  find  space  for  his  busi- 
ness. There  is  a  log  not  yet  preempted.  He  makes  a  dash 
for  it,  and,  dragging  a  suspicious-looking  cut  of  mutton 
from  his  sack,  sticks  his  knife  into  it  and  begins  to  yell  at 
the  top  of  his  voice:  "Gusht— Gu-usht!"  But  a  dignified 
graybeard,  holding  a  heaping  basket  of  apricots  in  his 
arms,  chases  away  the  lad  and  usurps  the  place.  How  slow 
and  deliberate  the  old  man  is,  with  what  concentration  he 
balances  his  tiny  scales,  carefully,  carefully,  as  if  these  were 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  239 

not  apricots  but  gold  ingots,  and  he  looks  up  into  the  eyes 
of  the  customer  and  seems  to  say:  "Well,  well,  young  fel- 
low, I  wonder  if  your  intentions  are  really  serious?"  A  few 
paces  away  a  tall,  barefooted  youngster  in  a  greasy  old 
cloak  is  selling  fritters,  still  steaming.  The  densest  crowd 
has  beleaguered  the  stand  belonging  to  the  Tadjik  State 
Cooperative.  Everybody  is  hungry  for  manufactured  prod- 
ucts sold  at  the  low  government  prices.  All  the  money  of 
the  bazaar  ultimately  finds  its  way  into  the  cash  box  of  the 
Cooperative.  As  the  sun  comes  nearer  to  its  zenith,  the 
hubbub  increases.  A  heavy,  sticky  smell,  a  mixture  of  the 
sweat  of  human  bodies,  of  animals,  and  of  shashlik,  pene- 
trates the  cloud  of  fine  dust  which  hangs  motionlessly  over 
the  bazaar. 

I  step  into  a  Red  Chai-khanah  and  order  a  pot  of  Kok- 
choi— green  tea.  It  is  wonderful  how  refreshing  hot  tea  is 
in  these  arid  regions.  During  my  journey  through  Uzbeki- 
stan I  used  to  gulp  down  from  thirty  to  forty  pialas  a  day. 
An  eternal  Central  Asian  cycle— one  is  hot,  then  he  drinks 
hot  tea,  then  perspiration  breaks  out  all  over  his  body, 
then  the  perspiration  quickly  evaporates,  then  he  feels 
cool;  before  long,  however,  he  feels  hot  again,  then  again 
hot  tea,  again  perspiration,  again  evaporation,  again  cool- 
ing, and  so  ad  infinitum! 

When  I  reach  the  third  stage  of  the  cycle,  I  drop  into 
lazy  meditation. 

Suddenly,  I  am  startled  by  a  burst  of  martial  music  from 
the  other  side  of  the  bazaar.  The  fellow  in  charge  of  the 
establishment  is  amused.  "A  parade.  We  are  celebrating 
our  victory  over  the  Basmachi,"  he  reassures  me. 

I  rush  out  of  the  Chai-Khanah.  As  the  head  of  the  parade 
approaches,  the  whole  crowd  on  the  square  splashes  to  one 
side,  like  water  in  a  tilted  vessel.  The  OGPU  band  is  play- 
ing the  Budionny  march.  It  is  followed  by  ranks  of  native 
and  Russian  Red  Army  men,  Pioneers  with  red  bow  ties, 
young  Communists  in  semi-military  khaki  uniforms,  by 
older  Communists,  workers,  peasants,  members  of  unions 
and  cooperatives,  all  carrying  banners  and  streamers  and 
slogans  in  the  Arabian  and  Latin  alphabets— "Down  with 


240  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  Basmachi!"  "Long  Live  the  Cotton  Campaign!" 
"Death  to  Ibrahim  Bekl"  "Long  Live  Socialist  Collectivist 
Tadjikistan!"— all  marching  in  the  direction  of  the  new 
city. 

Bargaining  is  at  once  terminated,  and  the  whole  crowd, 
on  foot,  on  horseback,  on  camels,  on  donkeys,  men,  women, 
children,  merchants,  peasants,  mullahs,  fakirs,  form  an 
amorphous,  heaving  mass,  milling  around  and  trailing 
behind  the  paraders. 

By  a  kind  of  miracle,  the  churning  mass  of  beasts  and 
men  flowing  out  of  the  large  space  of  the  bazaar  is  sucked 
into  the  narrow  winding  gullets  of  ancient  Dushambe  to 
issue  again,  an  hour  later,  and  much  augmented,  onto  the 
wide  paved  streets  and  the  broad  sidewalks  of  Stalinabad. 
Two  motor  buses,  fifteen  motor  trucks  and  eight  passenger 
cars  join  in  the  parade,  and  by  wildly  tooting  their  horns 
add  to  the  already  unbearable  noise.  The  parade  halts  be- 
fore the  imposing  house  of  the  Soviets.  They  are  calling 
for  Gusainov,  the  Secretary  of  the  Central  Committee  of 
the  Party,  for  Maxum,  the  President  of  the  Republic,  for 
Khodzhibaiev,  the  Chairman  of  the  Soviet  of  People's 
Commissars. 

"Death  to  Ibrahim  Bek!"  "Long  Live  the  Cotton  Cam- 
paign!" "Long  Live  Socialist  Tadjikistan!" 


No  Mosques,  No  Churches  f  No  Synogogues 

Stalinabad  is  young.  It  is  the  youngest  city  in  the 
youngest  country  in  the  world. 

Stalinabad  is  the  tempestuous  capital  of  the  seventh 
member  of  the  Union  of  Socialist  Soviet  Republics.  Its 
foundations  were  laid  in  1926  adjacent  to  the  ancient  vil- 
lage of  Dushambe,  in  a  broad  valley  where  the  Varzob 
river  bids  farewell  to  the  snow-capped  Hissar  Mountains 
and  plunges  headlong  into  the  Kafirnigan.  Stalinabad  is 
young.  And  the  turbulent  Varzob,  youthfully  leaping  and 
laughing,  supplies  the  leit-motif  to  the  bold  chant  which 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN    TADJIKISTAN  241 

Red  Stalinabad  sings  to  the  peoples  of  the  East— sirens  of 
factories,  rasping  of  cranes,  chattering  of  pneumatic  ham- 
mers, panting  of  engines 

One  need  not  be  a  primitive  Tadjik  mountaineer  to 
break  out  into  a  "song  of  wonderment"  on  seeing  Stalin- 
abad. It  started  with  nothing— no  population,  no  materials, 
no  skilled  workers,  about  three  hundred  kilometers  from 
the  nearest  railway,  Basmachi  lurking  in  the  surrounding 
mountains. 

True,  there  was  the  village  of  Dushambe.  For  centuries 
the  fame  of  the  Dushambe  fair,  held  on  a  memorable  Mon- 
day once  a  year,  had  resounded  through  these  regions. 
Caravans  heavy-laden  with  goods  from  lands  as  remote  as 
Persia  and  China  wound  their  way  for  months  through  the 
deserts  and  across  the  mountains  of  Central  Asia  to  be  on 
time  at  the  Dushambe  fair.  But  the  Emir's  rule  and  years 
of  revolution,  civil  war  and  banditry  brought  ruin  on  the 
old  village.  And  in  1925,  when  the  Autonomous  Tadjik 
Republic  was  born,  there  was  practically  no  Dushambe. 
The  village  was  deserted,  the  population  gone 

In  Dushambe  one  can  still  see  a  cluster  of  tumble-down, 
insect-ridden  mud  huts  which  the  natives  jestingly  call 
"The  Kremlin."  That  was  the  first  seat  of  the  Tadjik  gov- 
ernment. Here  they  met,  here  they  lived,  here  they 
worked.  When  the  heat  became  unbearable,  the  Executive 
Committee  of  the  Soviet  would  retire  to  the  yard,  there, 
under  an  ancient  tree,  by  the  side  of  the  malodorous  Hauz, 
to  attend  to  the  affairs  of  state. 

It  was  a  Gargantuan  task— the  building  of  Stalinabad. 
Timber  had  to  be  brought  from  the  north,  from  the  Urals, 
via  Termez.  And  the  thousands  of  kilometers  between  the 
Urals  and  Termez,  despite  the  inefficiency  of  the  single 
track  line,  were  much  easier  to  negotiate  than  the  three 
hundred  kilometers  from  Termez  to  Stalinabad.  One 
camel  could  pull  only  two  logs.  By  the  time  a  camel 
reached  Stalinabad,  each  log  was  about  one  meter  shorter 
than  at  the  beginning  of  the  journey— the  result  of  one 
end  being  dragged  for  ten  days  or  so  over  stones,  gravel, 
and  sand! 


24%  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

It  was  difficult  to  lure  skilled  builders  from  Russia.  The 
four-  or  five-day  journey  by  railroad  from  Central  Russia 
to  Termez  through  the  arid,  sandy  steppes  was  bad 
enough.  But  then  one  had  to  go  by  cart  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  days,  or  on  a  donkey— a  matter  of  twenty-five  days! 

It  took  three  years  to  extend  the  railroad  line  from 
Termez  to  Stalinabad.  The  first  train  arrived  at  the  capital 
on  May  i,  1929.  And  now,  in  addition  to  the  railroad, 
there  is  a  regular  air  service  connecting  the  Tadjik  capital 
with  Termez,  Bokhara,  Tashkent,  and  Moscow,  and  an- 
other air  line  connecting  it  with  the  Garm  grain  region. 

Day  and  night,  day  and  night  dozens  of  motor  trucks, 
hundreds  of  wagons,  arbas,  carts,  and  camels  haul  building 
materials  to  the  city.  Houses  spring  up  by  magic— cottages 
of  unburned  and  burned  brick,  houses  of  stone  and  ce- 
ment. The  site  of  the  city  is  cluttered  with  stacks  of  brick, 
with  piles  of  lumber,  with  mountains  of  stone,  gravel,  ce- 
ment. The  streets  are  ripped  open— pits,  holes,  ditches, 
swamps. 

People  live  in  barns,  in  hastily  rigged-up  barracks  and 
arbors,  in  tents,  in  covered  wagons.  A  more  or  less  stabi- 
lized, normal  life  is  out  of  the  question.  The  population  is 
swelling.  Every  train  disgorges  into  the  city  hundreds  of 
new  workers.  Food  is  irregular  and  bad.  The  water  system 
develops  too  slowly  to  meet  the  growing  demands. 

Still  the  outlines  of  a  modern  industrial  city  are  visible. 
Stalinabad  is  beginning  to  look  its  part— the  capital  of  a 
progressive  land.  The  stately  building  of  the  Executive 
Committee  had  been  erected  back  in  1926-1927.  It  was  the 
first  European  edifice  in  the  heart  of  Asia,  at  the  foot  of 
the  Pamir.  It  was  built  literally  under  the  bullets  of  the 
Basmachi.  Two  buildings  away  is  the  magnificent  home  of 
the  People's  Commissariat  of  Justice— a  befitting  monu- 
ment to  the  sixty  Communists  who  had  been  slain  and 
buried  on  that  spot  by  the  Basmachi.  Since  1929,  Stalin- 
abad has  been  growing  at  a  prodigious  rate,  one  official 
building  after  another:  Post  and  Telegraph,  the  Red  Army 
Club,  the  Commissariat  of  Education,  the  Hospital,  the 
Tropical  Institute,  Tadjikstroy,  Khlebstroy,  the  Municipal 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN 

Soviet  Building,  the  State  Publishing  House,  various 
schools  and  dormitories,  an  electric  power  station,  an  elec- 
tric flour  mill,  a  huge  electric  bakery,  a  silk  factory,  a  state 
theater,  a  cinema  laboratory,  a  railroad  station,  a  railroad 
depot,  a  modern  restaurant,  and,  of  course,  many  standard 
houses  accommodating  thousands  of  soviet  workers  and 
employees.  Stalinabad  is  illumined  by  electricity.  It  boasts 
a  radio  broadcasting  system,  a  beautifully  kept  park,  and  a 
well-equipped  airdrome.  In  1930  the  population  was  sixty 
thousand,  and  the  city  is  still  growing,  spreading,  expand- 
ing. Within  a  few  years  Stalinabad  is  projected  to  become 
one  of  the  important  industrial  centers  in  the  Soviet 
Union. 

Incidentally,  one  distinction  of  Stalinabad  the  Tadjik 
Communists  never  omit  to  mention— Stalinabad  is  the  first, 
and  so  far,  the  only  capital  city  in  the  world  free  of  any 
religious  institutions.  No  mosques,  no  churches,  no  syna- 
gogues. This  in  the  dark  depths  of  Asia! 


Stalinabad  Press— Self-criticism 

The  two  local  papers,  in  addition  to  the  inevitable  cot- 
ton and  collectivization  subjects,  bristle  with  self-criticism, 
with  exposes  of  inefficiency,  laxness,  dishonesty  on  the  part 
of  organizations  and  officials.  Inadequate  sanitation  and 
food  provoke  the  bitterest  comments  from  the  worker 
correspondents. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  workers'  settlement  on  the  out- 
skirts of  Stalinabad  complain.  For  two  weeks  a  dead  camel 
has  been  spreading  such  a  terrific  stench  in  the  neighbor- 
hood that  one  can  neither  pass  the  street  nor  open  a  win- 
dow without  becoming  sick  at  the  stomach.  Repeated 
appeals  to  the  militia  (police)  have  brought  no  results. 
The  item  in  the  newspaper  concludes  with  two  despairing 
questions:  "How  long  does  the  militia  intend  to  let  the 
rotting  camel  poison  our  lives?  How  long  will  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  settlement  continue  to  be  treated  as  the  step 
children  of  Stalinabad?" 


244  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

A  few  months  later  the  residents  of  the  same  suburban 
settlement  register  another  complaint  in  the  press.  They 
write: 

Remoteness  from  the  bazaar,  from  shops  and  the 
cooperative  stores,  the  absence  of  a  restaurant,  of  a 
water  system,  of  street  illumination,  a  bath,  not  to 
mention  our  unsatisfied  demands  for  a  club,  a  cinema, 
a  library,  etc.,  make  life  in  the  suburb  rather  unenvia- 
ble. Last  year  the  Consumers'  Cooperative  did  at- 
tempt to  do  something  for  us.  It  had  opened  three 
stands  in  our  suburb,  selling  manufactured  products, 
vegetables,  and  meats.  The  remoteness  from  the  cen- 
ter let  itself  be  felt  forthwith— near  each  stand  there 
was  a  permanent  long  line.  Still,  though  the  service 
was  not  commensurate  with  the  needs,  the  opening  of 
the  stands  removed  the  necessity  of  daily  journeys  to 
the  bazaar  or  of  buying  from  private  traders.  Alas,  this 
did  not  last  long.  One  fine  morning  the  meat  stand 
vanished,  then,  shortly  after,  the  vegetable  stand.  Now 
we  cannot  even  get  bread  in  our  neighborhood.  Ap- 
parently the  Party's  order  that  the  cooperative  stores 
be  brought  closer  to  the  consumers  has  not  yet  reached 
the  bureaucrats  in  our  cooperative  organizations. 

The  worker  Dust-Mamat  complains  that  "the  conditions 
of  the  workers  in  the  brick  factory  are  exceedingly  bad. 
They  are  not  even  supplied  with  a  sufficient  number  of 
cots.  Many  sleep  on  the  floor.  The  dormitories  are  filthy. 
There  is  no  cleaning  woman.  The  dining  room  doesn't 
function  well.  It  is  about  two  or  three  months  since  the 
workers  have  received  any  manufactured  goods— clothes, 
shoes,  etc.  No  production  conference  has  been  called  for 
over  two  months.  The  workers  work  blindly,  not  knowing 
either  the  plans,  achievements  or  failures  of  the  factory. 
The  administrative  and  technical  staffs  offer  no  leadership. 
The  Workers'  Committee,  too,  is  asleep,  making  not  the 
slightest  effort  to  remedy  the  situation." 

Here  are  a  few  characteristically  bitter  headlines: 
"Restaurant  or  Pigsty?"  "Vegetables  Are  Perishing,  but 
the  Cooperative  Sleeps."  "Height  of  Vegetable  Season,  but 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  245 

Workers  not  Supplied."  "Who  Ate  Up  the  Potatoes?"  "No 
One  is  Ready  to  Receive  the  Vegetables."  "Cooperators 
Sleep,  While  Private  Trade  Prospers."  "Fit  for  Pigs." 
"Drinking  Mineral  Water  Expensive  Vice."  "Worms  a 
Delicacy."  "Restaurant  Manager  Inefficient." 

And  the  August  gist  issue  of  the  Tadjikistan  Commu- 
nist, the  official  Government  and  Party  organ,  has  the  fol- 
lowing streamer  running  across  the  entire  width  (8 
columns)  of  the  page: 

A  GOOD  AND  CHEAP  DINNER  HELPS  OUR 
INDUSTRIAL  AND  FINANCIAL  PLAN 

This  is  followed  by  a  quotation  from  a  decree  issued  by 
the  Central  Committee  of  the  Party: 

Every  worker,  every  Party  member,  every  Young 
Communist,  and  above  all,  every  person  employed  in 
organizations  directly  connected  with  Communal 
Feeding  must  actively  struggle  against  the  defects  in 
our  communal  feeding,  and  must  endeavor  so  to  im- 
prove it  as  to  render  it  one  of  the  most  important  links 
in  improving  the  life  of  the  working  class. 

There  are  different  ways  of  interpreting  such  items  in 
the  press.  The  skeptic  is  likely  to  find  in  them  substantia- 
tion for  his  skepticism.  To  one  who  knows  Soviet  condi- 
tions, however,  they  are  likely  to  bring  unadulterated 
delight.  Here  is  a  young  city  in  the  heart  of  the  impene- 
trable mountains  and  deserts  of  darkest  Asia,  striving 
towards  forms  of  social  life  so  advanced  as  to  be  incon- 
ceivable in  our  western,  capitalistic  civilization.  Failures? 
Naturally.  Absurdities?  Inevitably.  Abuses?  Galore!  But 
after  all,  these  negative  items  have  been  selected  from  a 
batch  of  papers  covering  a  period  of  five  months.  I  said 
"negative."  But  to  one  who  understands  the  situation  they 
may  not  appear  quite  so  negative.  Do  they  not  reveal  an 
extraordinarily  active  participation  of  the  masses  in  the 
molding  of  their  own  life?  Do  they  not  reveal  an  unusual 
willingness  of  the  authorities  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  the 
people?  For,  it  should  be  noted,  any  such  complaint  sent 


246  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

to  the  Soviet  papers,  whether  published  or  not,  is  immedi- 
ately followed  by  an  investigation,  and  by  an  invariable 
improvement. 

In  the  very  same  issue  which  contains  the  complaint  of 
the  "step-children"  of  Stalinabad  (Nov.  21,  1931),  the 
reader  may  also  find  the  interesting  daily  feature:  "Our 
Replies."  To  quote: 

"To  Tkachev— The  statements  contained  in  your  note 
'Are  Such  Facts  Permissible?'  are  now  being  investigated." 

"To  Krivoshein— Your  material  is  being  investigated." 

"To  Dokshin— Your  revelations  are  a  duplication  of  an 
expose  already  published  in  the  paper.  There  is  therefore 
no  point  in  publishing  your  note." 

"To  Zatziepin— Your  note  concerning  Protosov's  unau- 
thorized appropriation  of  electrical  wire  from  the  store- 
house has  been  substantiated.  Protosov  was  tried  by  his 
co-workers  and  was  ordered  suspended  from  the  union  for 
a  period  of  six  months  and  removed  from  his  job  at  the 
storehouse.  The  court  also  decided  to  issue  a  public  repri- 
mand to  the  manager  of  the  storehouse,  Medvediev,  for 
his  failure  to  keep  careful  inventory  of  the  materials  in 
his  custody." 

In  the  same  column  featuring  "Our  Replies,"  under  the 
conspicuously  set  caption,  "Better  Children's  Lunches  and 
Cooperatives  Needed,"  the  following  startling  paragraphs 
appear: 

"The  hot  lunches  served  to  the  children  in  our  schools 
are  of  poor  quality.  This  must  be  attended  to  immediately. 
Considerable  improvement  can  be  achieved  at  relatively 
low  cost. 

"Also,  the  Commissariat  of  Education,  together  with  the 
Cooperative  Organization,  must  forthwith  begin  to  organ- 
ize children's  cooperatives  in  the  schools.  After  a  sufficient 
number  of  children  have  been  persuaded  to  join  these  co- 
operatives, low  price  stands  and  buffets  must  be  opened  in 
all  the  schools.  This  measure  is  important  both  from  the 
standpoint  of  health  as  well  as  education." 

Hundreds  of  thousands  of  black  and  white  children  of 
unemployed  American  workers  might  well  envy  the  en- 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  247 

lightened  solicitude  which  the  "uncivilized"  Asiatics  of 
Stalinabad  bestow  upon  their  youngl 


For  Sanitation!  For  Education! 

It  is  by  such  measures,  by  such  exposes,  that  conditions 
are  gradually  being  improved,  not  only  in  Stalinabad  but 
in  the  whole  country.  Consider  sanitation  and  education. 
Up  until  very  recently,  and  partly  even  now,  the  tabibs, 
the  local  healers,  played  the  chief  role  in  the  care  of  the 
sick.  The  health  of  the  country  was  in  their  hands.  Swal- 
lowing little  pieces  of  paper  with  quotations  from  the 
Koran  was  considered  the  most  efficacious  remedy  against 
any  disease.  Wearing  amulets  was  the  sole  prophylactic  the 
natives  ever  knew.  As  regards  preventive  health  and  sani- 
tation measures,  the  densest  ignorance  prevailed.  Malaria 
was  the  most  frightful  scourge  in  Tadjikistan;  there  are 
still  regions  where  fifty  per  cent  of  the  population  are  af- 
fected by  malaria.  There  is  leprosy  here,  and  dysentery, 
and  a  hundred  other  local  diseases  that  take  an  incredibly 
large  toll  of  the  ignorant  population. 

It  is  only  recently  that  Soviet  medicine  has  made  its 
appearance  in  Tadjikistan.  Up  to  1929,  there  was  only  one 
dispensary.  In  1931,  there  were  sixty-one  hospitals— ten  in 
the  cities  and  fifty-one  small  hospitals  in  the  villages. 
There  are  now  2,125  beds  to  accommodate  the  sick,  where 
before  there  was  none.  There  are  thirty-seven  dental 
clinics,  where  before  there  was  none.  There  are  special 
concentration  villages  for  the  victims  of  leprosy,  where  be- 
fore lepers  were  allowed  to  mingle  with  the  rest  of  the 
population,  the  only  restriction  being  that  they  were  re- 
quired to  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  There  are  two 
hundred  medical  doctors  in  Tadjikistan  who  are  gradually 
effecting  a  revolution  in  the  health  habits  of  the  natives. 
One  of  the  best  naturopathic  hospitals  in  the  Soviet  Union 
is  now  located  in  Hodjent.  Moreover,  the  young  Tadjik 
Republic  can  already  boast  of  four  medical  research  insti- 
tutes. And  while  in  1929  the  Tadjik  Government  spent 


248  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

only  725,000  rubles  for  health  purposes,  the  expenditures 
for  1931  leaped  to  6,898,000  rubles.  However,  even  this 
sum  was  trifling  considering  the  needs.  Stalinabad  has  a 
long  way  still  to  go  before  it  can  be  considered  a  healthful 
sanitary  city.  And  it  is  all  up  to  the  Stalinabad  Press. 

The  greatest  strides  made  by  the  Tadjik  Republic  have 
been  in  the  field  of  education.  Nowhere  in  the  Soviet 
Union  have  I  observed  such  an  overpowering  thirst  for 
knowledge  as  that  evinced  by  the  young  Tadjiks.  The  few 
old  Moslem  schools,  where  for  years  children  were  made 
to  study  the  Koran  by  heart,  and  where  no  secular  sub- 
jects of  any  kind  were  tolerated,  have  passed  into  oblivion. 
Gone,  too,  is  the  old  type  of  teacher— the  mullah  or  the 
student  of  the  Moslem  religious  academies.  The  schools 
are  modern  schools;  the  subjects  are  modern  subjects;  and 
the  teachers  are  modern  teachers.  A  people  that  was  almost 
entirely  illiterate  (only  i/^0  could  read  and  write)  sud- 
denly woke  up  to  the  need  of  education!  Schools  are  being 
built  everywhere.  And  it  is  noteworthy  that  for  the  most 
part  the  initiative  comes  from  the  peasants  themselves. 

One  of  the  thrills  during  my  trip  through  the  country 
was  to  see  a  group  of  peasants  in  a  remote  mountain  vil- 
lage waylay  the  President,  Maxum,  and  denounce  him  and 
the  government  for  being  dilatory  in  providing  building 
materials.  "No  nails,  no  window  panes,  no  lumber— and 
the  summer  is  passing,  the  school  season  about  to  start. 
It's  a  disgrace!"  argued  the  peasants.  And  not  until  the 
President  took  down  all  the  details  and  promised  to  attend 
to  the  complaint  personally  did  the  peasants  evince  a 
willingness  to  discuss  other  matters. 

The  papers  are  full  of  discussions  of  the  school  prob- 
lem, and  persistent  demands  for  schools.  A  mere  glance  at 
the  headlines  of  the  Tadjikistan  Communist  is  sufficient  to 
give  one  some  idea  of  the  situation.  The  paper  is  im- 
patient. It  clamors  for  schools.  One  headline  screams: 
"Building  Organization  Disrupts  School  Construction." 
The  subhead  reads:  "Immediate  Acceleration  of  Tempo. 
The  Plan  Must  Be  Carried  Out.  We  Shall  Brook  No 
Delay." 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM   IN   TADJIKISTAN  249 

I  quote  a  few  characteristic  paragraphs  from  the  article 
that  follows  these  headlines: 

One  hundred  and  two  new  elementary  schools, 
eight  kindergartens,  several  pedagogical  technicums, 
a  number  of  schools  for  the  workers'  children  at  Santo 
and  Shurab,  five  libraries  and  reading  rooms,  five  red 
tea  rooms— this  has  been  our  plan  for  the  coming 
school  season,  this,  we  have  hoped,  would  serve  as  a 
basis  for  the  unfolding  of  our  vast  cultural  and  peda- 
gogical work,  in  conformity  with  the  general  plan  for 
a  cultural  revolution  in  the  various  districts  of  our 
Republic. 

The  turbulent  economic  and  industrial  growth  of 
Tadjikistan,  the  unheard-of  rate  of  development  of 
our  socialized  sector,  have  stimulated  the  toilers'  legit- 
imate craving  for  education. 

What  was  sufficient  yesterday,  is  utterly  inadequate 
to-day.  Everywhere  there  is  a  shortage  of  schools.  We 
cannot  accommodate  all  those  who  wish  to  study.  The 
existing  schools  are  crowded,  and  therefore  not  very 
efficient.  The  slogan  "Liquidate  Illiteracy  Within  the 
Next  Couple  of  Years"  has  been  taken  up  by  the 
masses  and  is  being  carried  into  life. 

Naturally,  school  construction  does  not  keep  up 
with  the  rapidly  growing  demand.  During  the  coming 
season,  the  lack  of  school  building  will  greatly  ham- 
per any  attempt  to  liquidate  the  illiteracy  of  tens  of 
thousands  of  toilers. 

This  is  the  reason  our  building  organization  must 
give  special  attention  and  care  to  the  construction  of 
the  schools  and  the  other  cultural  mass  institutions 
projected  and  financed  by  the  People's  Commissariat 
for  Education. 

This  is  the  reason,  with  a  deep  feeling  of  protest 
and  indignation,  we  are  forced  to  call  attention  to  the 
threatening  failure  on  the  most  important  front  of 
school  construction. 

The  four  other  school  items  are  all  written  in  the  same 
vein.  Protest,  indignation,  irony,  but  no  despair.  The 
schools  projected  for  the  years  1931-32  would  be  con- 


25O  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

structed,  despite  some  natural  delay.  For  delay  is  natural 
—bringing  lumber  and  nails  and  glass  from  the  north  and 
distributing  them  among  the  villages  is  no  simple  matter, 
in  view  of  the  inadequacy  of  the  transport.  Another  cause 
for  delay  is  the  time  required  for  the  training  of  teachers. 

Still,  a  great  deal  has  been  accomplished.  In  1925  there 
were  only  six  modern  schools  in  Tadjikistan.  Toward  the 
end  of  1926  there  were  113  schools  with  2,300  students; 
in  1929—500;  in  1931,  over  2,000  educational  institutions 
with  over  120,000  students!  The  budget  for  1929-30  was 
8  million  rubles.  The  budget  for  1930-31  was  28  million 
rubles. 

"These  tempi,  as  you  see,  are  colossal,"  said  Khodzhi- 
baiev  to  me,  "but  the  results  are  insufferably  small.  There 
is  a  disproportion  between  the  economic  and  cultural 
growths  in  Tadjikistan.  What  I  mean  to  say  by  that  is 
that  in  the  realm  of  economics  our  achievements  are  much 
greater  than  in  the  realm  of  culture." 

To  me  it  seems,  however,  that  Khodzhibaiev  was  wrong. 
He  was  too  impatient.  Furthermore,  his  criteria  were  not 
the  correct  criteria.  Altogether  a  cultural  revolution  is  not 
a  ponderable  matter.  Certainly,  the  number  of  schools  (this 
is  what  Khodzhibaiev  judged  by)  is  in  some  way  an  index 
of  what  has  been  accomplished,  but  to  me  this  is  not  quite 
as  significant  an  index  as  the  overwhelming  number  of 
people  who  are  clamoring  for  schools,  for  modern  educa- 
tion, for  science!;  This  is  the  real  achievement.  Schools 
will  come,  once  the  demand  has  been  created. 

It  is  very  characteristic  that  during  the  Basmach  trou- 
bles, the  village  teacher  was  usually  the  first  to  be  killed 
by  the  invading  bands.  The  teacher  stands  for  modernity, 
for  science,  for  the  emancipation  of  the  enslaved  Moslem 
woman,  for  collectivization,  for  cotton,  for  everything 
abhorrent  to  the  supporters  of  the  old.  The  village  teacher 
in  Central  Asia  is  the  worst  enemy  of  reaction  and  bigotry; 
the  best  and  most  enthusiastic  carrier  of  the  Communist 
ideals.  The  village  teacher  is  a  symbol  of  an  awakened 
Tadjikistan  forging  ahead  to  heights  no  Tadjik  could 
even  dream  of  six  or  seven  years  ago. 


XIV 
A  SHEAF  OF  TRAVEL  NOTES 

Neither  mullah,  bey,  nor  merchant  would  I  like  to  be, 
Nor  a  dervish,  blind  and  funny,  would  I  like  to  be, 
Nor  a  son  of  a  rich  man,  dressed  in  gold  and  silk, 
With  a  rouged  and  powdered  face  would  I  like  to  be. 

Nor  a  boss  of  ferry  boats  would  I  like  to  be, 
Nor  a  fat  emir's  official  would  I  like  to  be, 
Nor  a  healer  of  old  women  would  I  like  to  be, 
Nor  a  vendor  on  the  market  would  I  like  to  be. 

An  agronomist,  a  doctor,  I  would  like  to  be. 

A  librarian,  a  teacher,  I  would  like  to  be— 

One  who  sows  the  words  of  Lenin  in  the  minds  of  men 

Like  a  peasant  in  the  meadow,  I  would  like  to  be. 

And  a  People's  Commissar  I  would  like  to   be. 

OLUCHAK  was  right. 

*J  Evidences  of  the  dramatic  conflict  between  the  Old 
and  New,  between  Europe  and  Asia,  between  Socialism 
and  Feudalism,  between  Mohammedanism  and  Marxism- 
Leninism  are  more  numerous  in  Tadjikistan  than  any- 
where else  in  Central  Asia.  The  steady  encroachment  of 
modern  Stalinabad  upon  ancient  Dushambe  is  only  one  of 
the  more  obvious  symbols  of  this  conflict.  Every  road,  vil- 
lage, home,  indeed  the  very  soul  of  every  Tadjik,  even  of 
the  Communist,  has  its  Dushambe  and  Stalinabad  aspects. 
The  clash  between  the  two  is  all-pervading. 

Except  for  the  few  highways  built  during  the  last  five  or 
six  years,  there  are  practically  no  roads  in  Tadjikistan,  only 
narrow  bridle  paths  winding  over  dizzy  mountains  and 
trailing  along  black  precipices.  We  are  told  that  there  are 
sections  in  the  mountains  where  the  principle  of  the  wheel 
is  still  unknown  and  where  the  inhabitants  have  been  in- 

251 


252  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

troduced  to  airplanes  before  they  had  ever  seen  a  wagon. 
When  the  mountain  Basmachi  first  saw  a  car  advancing 
along  a  recently  built  road,  they  thought  it  was  a  devil  and 
scurried  off  into  the  hills.  On  the  Afghan  border,  some 
Basmachi,  upon  capturing  an  automobile,  smashed  the 
headlights,  thinking  that  they  were  disabling  the  beast  by 
destroying  its  eyes.  According  to  the  chauffeur,  the  con- 
sternation of  the  bandits  when  they  saw  him  get  back 
into  the  car  and  escape  was  so  great  that  they  did  not  make 
the  slightest  effort  to  catch  him. 

The  average  Tadjik  seems  cheerful,  hospitable,  and 
peace-loving.  One  can  scarcely  imagine  him  as  a  Basmach. 
He  loves  to  work  on  his  field  or  in  his  garden,  but  his 
ideal  is  the  bank  of  a  road,  an  orchard,  and  a  breeze.  In 
some  mountain  regions,  however,  the  Tadjiks  are  distin- 
guished by  their  austere,  direct,  and  warlike  nature.  I  am 
told  that  the  Yaftal  Tadjiks  in  Afghanistan  are  extraordi- 
narily daring,  and  that  the  Tadjiks  of  the  Kabul  region 
supply  the  best  soldiers  of  the  Afghan  army. 

We  are  in  Sarai  Komar,  discussing  the  terrible  ravages 
wrought  by  malaria  in  that  section.  The  local  representa- 
tive of  the  OGPU  is  boasting  of  the  efforts  of  the  Soviet 
Government  to  introduce  modern  methods  of  sanitation 
and  hygiene.  Uzbai,  a  middle-aged  Tadjik,  a  member  of 
the  local  Soviet  and  a  candidate  for  membership  in  the 
Communist  Party,  does  not  seem  wholly  convinced  of  the 
efficacy  of  modern  medical  science.  To  the  utter  embar- 
rassment of  the  other  Communists  in  the  room,  particu- 
larly of  the  representative  of  the  OGPU,  Uzbai  even  goes 
so  far  as  to  put  in  a  good  word  for  the  old  healers,  the 
tabibs.  He  says:  "I  was  once  sick  with  malaria.  One  healer 
gave  me  an  egg  and  a  spool  of  thread,  and  told  me  to  first 
wind  the  thread  around  the  egg,  then,  after  unwinding 
the  thread,  to  throw  out  the  egg  and  twist  the  thread 
around  my  neck.  He  told  me  to  wear  it  around  my  neck 
for  three  days,  then  to  remove  it  and  throw  it  into  the 
stream.  Then,  he  said,  I  would  be  cured.  And  would  you 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  253 

believe  it,  I  was  cured."  "But  you  still  have  attacks  of 
malaria,"  exclaims  the  representative  of  the  OGPU. 
"Yes,"  answers  Uzbai  imperturbably,  "but  that  was  eight- 
een years  ago!"  "And  you  a  candidate  for  Party  mem- 
bership!" says  the  smiling  Russian  Communist,  shaking 
his  head  reproachfully. 

Through  most  of  the  country,  camels,  horses  and  don- 
keys are  the  sole  means  of  transportation.  Donkeys  are 
invaluable.  I  once  heard  Maxum,  the  peasant  president 
of  the  Tadjik  Republic,  refer  to  them  as  "our  dear  little 
Fords."  You  see  these  poor  creatures  everywhere,  carrying 
inconceivably  heavy  burdens.  Before  the  coming  of  the 
tractors  which  everywhere  in  the  Soviet  Union  work  day 
and  night,  the  most  characteristic  night  noises  in  this  part 
of  the  world  were  (and  in  some  sections  still  are)  the  heart- 
rending braying  of  the  donkeys  and  the  weird  monotone 
of  the  bells  of  passing  caravans.  One  commiserates  even 
with  the  awkward  camels,  though,  according  to  the  native 
authorities,  they  are  mean,  vindictive  and  cowardly.  The 
camels  always  have  a  martyred  look.  Everywhere  along  the 
roads  one  sees  the  bleached  bones  of  their  brothers  who 
fell  in  the  line  of  duty  while  helping  build  socialism. 

One  often  hears  of  the  Basmachi.  We  travel  armed,  and 
throughout  the  journey  in  the  mountains  we  have  two 
Red  Army  men,  with  rifles  and  hand  grenades,  accompany- 
ing us.  Ibrahim  Bek  is  on  every  tongue.  England,  said 
to  be  in  back  of  Ibrahim,  is  most  cordially  hated  by 
every  Tadjik  peasant.  Everywhere  the  peasants  are  organ- 
ized in  Red  Stick  detachments.  There  are,  we  are  told, 
sixty  thousand  Red  Sticks  in  Tadjikistan.  Most  of  them 
have  no  firearms,  but  they  carry  heavy  cudgels,  knives  and 
other  weapons  when  they  go  out  into  the  hills  in  search 
of  the  Basmachi. 

Occasionally  one  meets  a  Tadjik  Communist  who  still 
frequents  the  mosque. 


254  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Nabidjon,  a  Communist,  is  accused  of  having  three 
wives.  His  defense:  "I  had  them  before  I  joined  the  Party. 
It  would  be  cruel  to  drop  them  now." 

Even  the  new  highways  in  the  valleys  are  not  very  good. 
They  are  so  thick  with  dust  that  motors  are  bound  to  be 
ruined  within  a  short  time.  During  the  winter,  our  chauf- 
feur tells  me,  traffic  is  almost  impossible  because  of  the 
mud.  What  is  worse,  many  of  the  roads  in  the  valleys  are 
crossed  by  numberless  ditches  (parts  of  the  irrigation  sys- 
tem), very  few  of  which  have  as  yet  any  bridges.  Getting 
stuck  in  a  ditch,  therefore,  is  a  very  common  misfortune. 

On  the  Aral  road  something  rather  significant  happened. 
The  front  wheels  of  our  truck  landed  in  a  ditch,  and  the 
car  refused  to  budge.  The  usual  bustle  ensued.  The  na- 
tives from  a  neighboring  village  came  with  spades  and 
dirks,  and  had  a  good  time  at  our  expense:  shouting, 
scratching  of  heads,  laughter,  all  kinds  of  good  or  bad 
advice.  When  it  seemed  that  everything  was  ready  for  us 
to  pull  out,  our  truck  began  to  hiss  and  sputter  and 
shiver  and  with  one  grand  effort  leaped  with  the  front 
wheels  out  of  the  ditch  only  to  have  the  hind  wheels  sink 
in  the  mud.  Just  at  that  moment  there  appeared  a  brightly 
attired  native  mounted  on  a  donkey,  holding  a  sheep  in 
his  lap  and  with  a  little  boy  clinging  to  his  back.  He 
halted  for  a  moment,  glanced  at  our  painfully  breathing 
truck,  smiled  in  his  black  beard,  and  without  uttering  a 
word,  very  proudly  crossed  the  ditch.  Then  he  turned 
around,  smiled  once  more,  and  proceeded  on  his  way. 
That  smile  was  so  devastatingly  contemptuous  that  our 
chauffeur,  a  young  Tadjik  Communist,  fairly  writhed  un- 
der it.  He  couldn't  stand  it.  Jumping  into  his  seat,  he 
violently  threw  in  the  clutch  and,  lo  and  behold,  the  truck, 
with  a  tremendous  jerk,  struggled  out  of  the  ditch.  The 
chauffeur  screamed  with  delight.  The  natives  burst  out 
into  loud  guffaws.  The  discomfiture  of  the  contemptuous 
Tadjik  was  complete.  Modern  technique  won  the  day.  And 
as  our  car  dashed  forward  leaving  a  trail  of  smoke  and 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM   IN   TADJIKISTAN  255 

dust  behind  it,  we  could  hear  the  hilarious  laughter  and 
shouting  of  the  natives. 

In  Khodjent:  One  Tadjik,  twenty-four  years  old,  given 
a  month's  vacation  and  railroad  ticket.  Goes  to  the  station. 
Waits  till  the  train  pulls  in.  Becomes  frightened.  Goes 
back  and  gives  up  his  trip. 

Still  found  among  some  sections  of  the  Tadjik  popula- 
tion is  the  worship  of  living  saints,  the  so-called  ishans. 
These  are  the  spiritual  leaders  and  exponents  of  the  mys- 
tical teaching  of  sufism.  Their  followers  are  known  as 
miurids.  When  an  ishan  arrives  in  an  out-of-the-way  vil- 
lage, his  followers  go  out  in  crowds  to  meet  him  and  do 
him  honor,  and  a  religious  Tadjik  considers  himself  for- 
tunate when  he  manages  to  touch  the  clothes  or  even  the 
stirrup  of  the  saint.  The  miurids  whip  themselves  into  a 
frenzy  of  mystical  exaltation  and  ecstasy,  and  into  a  feel- 
ing of  close  proximity  to  Allah,  by  reiterating,  without  let 
up,  for  hours  at  a  stretch,  the  various  names  of  the  deity. 
They  also  hold  to  the  belief  that  some  of  the  most  saintly 
of  them  belong  to  the  forty  mysterious  beings  who  keep 
watch  over  the  universe.  Sufism  and  Bolshevism! 

In  almost  every  village  the  story  begins:  "We  had  ex- 
pected the  Basmachi  here  in  the  spring"  or  "the  Basmachi 
came  here  in  the  spring"  or  "We  had  a  battle  here  with 
the  Basmachi  in  the  spring";  and  in  almost  every  village 
the  story  ends:  "But  we  carried  out  the  cotton  plan  just 
the  same"  or  "The  sowing  campaign  was  a  success  just  the 
same"  or  "Collectivization  went  on  just  the  same." 

Some  of  the  stories  are  quite  dramatic.  In  the  moun- 
tains, much  more  than  in  the  plains,  there  is  no  choice 
between  battle  and  retreat.  And  the  battles  are  fought 
without  mercy,  to  the  death.  Even  in  this  land  of  strange 
doings,  they  speak  with  bated  breath  about  the  Garm  bat- 
tle in  1929,  a  battle  which,  as  described  by  Ludkevich, 
was  indeed  a  combination  of  tragedy,  movie-thriller,  and 
revolutionary  opera  all  in  one.  Garm  is  a  village  of  gar- 


256  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

dens  and  orchards.  It  rises  from  the  banks  of  the  tumul- 
tuous Pianj  and  is  surrounded  by  a  ring  of  snow-capped 
mountains.  Now  there  is  an  automobile  road  being  built 
which  will  connect  it  with  Stalinabad,  but  in  1929  there 
were  only  narrow  mountain  paths,  and  it  took  three  days 
to  cover  the  distance  between  the  two  points.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  Pianj,  behind  those  mountains,  lies  Afghan- 
istan. In  1929,  Faizulla  Maxum,  a  notorious  Basmach 
leader,  scaled  the  Darvaz  glaciers,  crossed  the  treacherous 
Pianj,  and  suddenly  appeared  in  Garm.  The  village  was 
quite  defenseless;  no  garrison,  no  armed  forces  and  no  one 
to  come  to  its  aid.  A  dozen  teachers,  three  Soviet  employees 
and  three  members  of  the  border  OGPU  shouldered  their 
guns  and  went  out  to  meet  the  enemy.  They  were  slaugh- 
tered. But  just  as  Faizulla  was  celebrating  his  victory  and 
augmenting  his  troops  by  recruiting  the  "best  people"  of 
Garm,  a  huge  and  ominous  bird  came  soaring  over  Garm. 
The  natives  ran  for  their  lives.  What  then  was  their 
astonishment  to  see  their  old  friend  Maxum,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Republic,  accompanied  by  a  military  man, 
emerging  from  the  steel  bowels  of  the  bird!  And  then 
down  flew  other  birds,  from  which  came  forty-five  war- 
riors armed  with  machine  guns.  "Faizulla,  his  troops  shot 
to  pieces,  fled  back  to  Afghanistan  like  a  mountain  goat. 
He  is  now  an  inn-keeper  in  Kabul." 

Garm  again.  This  spring,  in  April,  Ibrahim's  bands 
raided  this  neighborhood  under  the  leadership  of  Mullah 
Sherif.  The  population  rose  against  them— half  of  them 
were  drowned,  including  a  brother  of  Faizulla  Maxum, 
and  perhaps  even  Mullah  Sherif  himself.  And  only  three 
weeks  before  we  came,  another  Ibrahim  detachment  passed 
through  this  region.  This  time  the  Basmachi  were  fleeing 
back  to  Afghanistan.  The  Garm  Red  Sticks  intercepted 
them  in  the  mountain.  Many  were  killed.  The  rest  van- 
ished. 

On  our  way  to  Khovaling  we  stop  in  the  village  Degris 
to  rest  under  a  huge  plane  tree  on  the  bank  of  the  Yakhsi. 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  257 

Lozowick  falls  asleep.  His  Swiss  watch  attracts  the  admir- 
ing attention  of  some  of  the  Tadjiks,  also  my  field  glasses. 
...  As  I  write  this  note  my  writing  stirs  the  curiosity  of 
a  few  young  people.  I  tell  them  that  I  am  writing  English. 
This  creates  a  tremendous  sensation.  By  signs,  sounds,  and 
grimaces  they  make  me  understand  that  one  of  them  is  a 
Pioneer,  the  others  are  Young  Communists.  They  inquire 
as  to  my  nationality,  as  well  as  to  that  of  the  others  in  the 
group.  The  variety  of  nationalities  represented  creates  an- 
other sensation.  "A  real  International!"  exclaims  one.  The 
Pioneer  asks  Vaillant-Couturier:  "Communist?"  "Yes." 
Great  jubilation. 

An  illustration  of  the  sudden  leap  Tadjikistan  is  making 
from  primitive  to  ultra-modern  forms  of  life  is  the  almost 
daily  task  of  transporting  our  splendidly  modern  two-and- 
a-half-ton  truck  on  one  of  the  antediluvian,  ramshackle 
native  ferries  across  the  many  mountain  rivers. 

The  level  of  the  water  in  these  mountain  streams  is  most 
uncertain— now  very  high,  now  very  low— changing  errat- 
ically, depending  on  the  weather.  The  little  ferry  wharves 
are  invariably  rickety  wooden  structures,  with  plenty  of 
loose  boards  and  protruding  nails.  Neither  the  wharves 
nor  the  ferries,  of  course,  are  meant  to  support  trucks  or 
cars.  And  usually  the  floor  of  the  ferry  is  either  consider- 
ably below  or  considerably  above  the  wharf. 

The  problem  of  getting  a  truck  across  such  a  wharf  and 
on  such  a  ferry  is  most  complicated  and  involves  skill  and 
teamwork  of  the  highest  order.  When,  for  instance,  on  get- 
ting on,  the  floor  of  the  ferry  is  below  the  wharf,  every- 
body clusters  on  the  farther  side  of  the  ferry  in  the  hope 
that  the  combined  weight  of  all  the  passengers  may  raise 
the  boat  on  the  opposite  side  to  the  required  level.  The 
first  violent  sensation  one  gets  is  when  the  front  wheels 
of  the  truck  jump  the  perilous  gap  between  the  wharf  and 
the  ferry.  (Provided,  of  course,  that  they  land  there;  for 
as  often  as  not  the  boat  tips  too  much  and  the  truck 
plunges  into  the  water.)  Not  before  the  front  wheels  are 
safe  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  does  any  one  dare  to  make 


258  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  least  move.  But  getting  the  truck  on  the  ferry  is  only 
one-third  of  the  job.  The  weight  of  the  truck  naturally 
loads  the  ferry  deeper  in  the  water,  and  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  it  scrapes  bottom.  Then  the  real  trouble  begins. 
Everybody  strips  naked,  jumps  into  the  river  and  pushes, 
not  always  with  much  success.  The  last  operation  is  getting 
the  truck  off  the  ferry— a  job  obviously  as  delicate  as  get- 
ting it  on.  I  once  complimented  our  driver  on  his  skill, 
and  his  answer  was:  "If  your  American  manufacturer  ever 
saw  what  we  were  doing  to  his  machine  he  would  weep." 

In  Chubek.  Kolroshchikov  speaking:  "We  have  been 
even  more  exposed  than  the  comrades  in  Garm.  Here  the 
Pianj  breaks  up  into  eight  branches.  In  the  fall  the  river 
at  this  point  is  so  shallow  that  the  Basmachi  find  it  easier 
to  cross  here  than  anywhere  else  on  our  Afghan  border. 
Furthermore,  our  reed  jungles  provide  an  ideal  place  for 
hiding;  while  Khadzha  Mumin,  our  white  salt  mountain, 
is  an  excellent  help  in  finding  one's  bearing  on  a  dark 
night 

"Ibrahim  Bek  crossed  nearby  with  three  hundred  horse- 
men. There  were  only  two  Red  soldiers  on  guard— 
Neviazny  and  Solovey.  They  waited  for  the  Basmachi  to 
get  very  close  to  them  before  they  began  shooting.  The 
two  guards  were  soon  joined  by  two  more— Tynok  and 
Lomechuk.  The  Basmachi,  crying  *  Allah/  fell  upon  them, 
but  the  guards  held  their  ground.  The  Basmachi  then 
broke  into  two  parts.  One  part  got  across  while  the  others 
continued  the  fight.  The  shots  were  heard  at  the  garrison. 
Twelve  more  soldiers  joined.  Commander  Golodovnikov 
and  one  army  man  lured  the  Basmachi  to  the  ambuscade. 
Fighting  continued  all  night.  All  in  all  fifty-eight  dead 
Basmachi  were  found  in  the  morning.  More  had  been 
killed,  but  some  of  the  bodies  had  been  picked  up  by  the 
Basmachi.  Leaving  forty-five  horses  behind,  the  beaten 
remnants  ran  toward  the  Kyzyl  Mazar  region  where  they 
were  taken  care  of  by  the  regular  army.  There  were  no 
losses  on  the  Soviet  side." 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  259 

We  are  told  of  two  more  Basmach  raids— small  ones,  in 
Chubek,  and  several  more  in  other  sections  of  this  district. 

In  the  mountain  village  of  Mumanibad  the  students  in 
the  local  school  for  adults  ask  us  the  following  questions: 

1.  What  is  the  American  workers'  attitude  toward  the 
Soviet  government? 

2.  What  is  the  cause  of  strikes? 

3.  How  large  is  the  membership  of  the  Young  Com- 
munist organization  in  Germany? 

4.  What  is  your  attitude  toward  the  Soviets? 

5.  What  is  the  percentage  of  literacy  in  France,  Ger- 
many and  America? 

6.  Do  you  have  co-educational  schools  in  your  countries? 

7.  What  is  the  position  of  woman  and  what  are  her 
rights  in  America?  The  same  about  France  and  Germany. 

8.  Is  there  freedom  for  workers?  Can  they  go  to  school? 
Can  they  get  any  kind  of  work? 

9.  Have  you  kulaks?    How  do  you  treat  them? 

10.  Which  countries  are  nearest  to  socialism? 

11.  What  are  the  subjects  taught  in  your  schools?  Are 
the  students  taught  politgramota  (political  education)  and 
from  which  point  of  view? 

12.  What  is  the  social  composition  of  your  universities? 

13.  How  does  the  revolutionary  movement  develop  in 
your  countries? 

14.  Which  country  is  the  most  developed  technically? 

15.  Which  country  has  the  biggest  armaments? 

16.  Is  the  Communist  Party  legal  in  America? 

17.  Is  education  in  America  "all-sided"? 

At  the  end,  a  young  fellow,  addressing  himself  directly 
to  me:  "Tell  them  in  your  country  they  should  stop  op- 
pressing our  Negro  brothers!" 

Numerous  sacred  spots,  springs,  rocks,  trees  with  mirac- 
ulous and  healing  properties— so-called  mazars  are  to  be 
found  all  over  the  country.  These  are  associated  ostensibly 
with  the  names  of  Moslem  saints.  In  point  of  fact,  how- 


26o  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

ever,  most  of  these  mazars,  it  seems,  are  of  ancient,  pre- 
Moslem  origin. 

In  Mumanibad,  the  local  Communist  Nazarov  tells  me 
of  such  a  mazar  in  the  Shurab  district.  As  he  describes  it, 
it  is  a  long,  narrow,  dark  cave.  In  the  center  of  the  cave, 
which  is  always  very  damp  and  in  which  there  is  an  eternal 
vapor,  there  is  a  huge  stone  grave.  On  top  of  the  grave 
there  are  three  stone  objects:  a  turban,  a  tea  pot,  and  a 
pair  of  overshoes.  By  the  side  of  the  grave  there  is  the 
stone  image  of  a  camel.  Water  constantly  drips  from  the 
roof  of  the  cave.  This  water  has  magic  properties.  When 
you  say,  "how  cold,"  the  water  becomes  hot.  When  you 
say,  "how  hot,"  the  water  turns  cold.  When  the  water  falls 
on  your  hand,  it  looks  like  a  wet  crystal,  and  it  can  heal 
all  kinds  of  ailments.  This  cave  is  named  after  the  saint 
Imam  Iskari. 

I  confess  I  am  more  amazed  by  the  hushed  voice  of  the 
credulous  Tadjik  Communist  than  by  the  magic  properties 
of  the  water  and  the  mysterious  petrified  objects  in  the 
cave.  When  I  ask  Nazarov  whether  he  had  ever  visited  that 
cave,  he  tells  me  that  he  never  had.  Yet  there  he  is,  a  Com- 
munist, a  member  of  the  Soviet,  ready  to  believe  the  most 
preposterous  legend  about  some  very  dubious  saint. 

More  skeptical  than  Nazarov  is  Ibrahimov,  the  secre- 
tary of  the  local  executive  committee  of  the  Party.  "It  must 
have  been  built  by  a  gifted  fellow,  a  sculptor,  who  then 
decided  that  it  would  be  a  good  way  to  play  on  the  super- 
stition of  the  ignorant  masses,  and  to  collect  money."  To 
prove  his  point,  Ibrahimov  cites  another  mazar,  in  the 
village  Pushan  in  the  district  of  Kuliab.  In  Pushan,  Ibra- 
himov informs  me,  there  is  a  beautiful  stone  which  has 
the  imprint  of  a  horse's  hoof  and  near  which  there  is  a 
stone  manger  which  attracts  many  sick  people.  According 
to  ancient  tradition  Ali,  the  warrior,  the  son-in-law  of 
Mohammed,  the  Shah-Mardan  (King  of  Man) ,  the 
Khazret-i-Shah  (Holy  King),  had  been  on  that  spot  and 
had  rested  his  horses  there. 

Ali  is  the  most  popular  hero  in  Tadjik  folklore.  He  is 
credited  with  the  conquest  of  Central  Asia  and  the  con- 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  %6l 

version  of  that  region  to  the  Moslem  faith.  Near  the 
ancient  city  of  Balkh  a  large  settlement  had  sprung  up 
by  a  grave  in  which,  presumably,  the  body  of  the  holy 
Chalif  AH  rests.  Since,  however,  according  to  Ibrahimov, 
it  is  known  definitely  that  AH  was  never  in  Central  Asia,  it 
follows  that  in  this  case,  as  in  so  many  others,  popular 
imagination  transferred  to  AH  the  legends  and  stories  and 
beliefs  which  had  been  built  around  some  earlier,  more 
ancient,  popular  hero. 

Meeting  at  Kolkhoz  Gulston  (Land  of  Flames),  with 
the  participation  of  the  neighboring  Kolkhoz  Stalin  and 
the  Commune  Poor  Peasant.  Meeting  place  at  mosque. 
Red  flags  all  over.  The  order  of  the  day  is:  i,  Report  on 
the  political  situation  in  the  district  and  on  recent  events; 
2,  Introduction  of  brigade  of  foreign  writers;  3,  Election 
of  extraordinary  political  commission  for  struggle  with 
Basmachi;  4,  Enlistment  into  Red  Sticks.  One  peasant 
argues:  "Why  enlist  when  we  will  all  fight?"  The  oldest 
member,  Duse-Mahomet-Dovlet  Zada,  sixty-six  years  old, 
wants  to  join  and  is  put  out  when  told  that  it  would  be 
better  if  the  younger  folk  did  the  fighting.  "I'll  lick  any 
two  of  you  younger  folks,"  grumbles  the  old  man.  Also  the 
fourteen-year-old  Hait  Sherif  Zada!  Also  a  woman  1  One 
hundred  and  ten  enlist  altogether. 

Most  of  the  villages  we  pass  are  in  valleys.  Not  infre- 
quently, however,  the  traveler's  eye  is  met  by  a  village 
clinging  to  the  side  of  a  mountain,  arranged  picturesquely 
like  an  amphitheater,  and  bathed  in  a  heavy  sea  of  verdure: 
gardens,  vineyards,  fruit  trees,  mulberry  trees,  nut  trees, 
apricot  and  pistachio  trees,  plane  trees,  poplars.  All  of 
these  trees  grow  luxuriantly  in  the  mountains,  at  times 
to  incredible  thickness  and  height. 

The  mountain  villages  are  not  very  large,  only  a  few 
households.  But  each  household  is  large,  the  married  sons 
and  their  families  living  with  the  parents.  The  buildings 
are  squat,  thick-walled,  with  apertures  in  the  ceilings  for 
the  smoke  to  pass  out.  Often  the  buildings  are  simply 


262  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

piled-up  rocks  which  are  whitewashed  and  which  give  the 
dwelling  a  rather  cozy  appearance.  Almost  every  village 
has  a  Red  Chai-Khanah.  In  many  villages  we  find  mosques 
turned  into  modern  schools. 

The  furnishings  and  utensils  in  a  mountain  Tadjik's 
household  are  poor  and  crude:  an  iron  kettle  for  cooking 
the  simple  fare,  a  kumgan—a.  brass  or  copper  pitcher  for 
tea,  a  few  crude,  home-made  clay  dishes,  a  couple  of 
wooden  spoons  (most  of  the  food  is  eaten  with  the  fingers- 
spoons  are  used  only  for  soup;  forks  are  never  used),  and 
finally  a  leather  sack  in  which  provisions  are  kept.  The 
last  is  the  invariable  companion  of  the  mountaineer  when 
he  is  on  the  road.  At  times  one  may  find  in  a  Tadjik  house- 
hold a  very  primitive  weaving  loom  and  tall  wooden  over- 
shoes. Occasionally,  one  also  finds  the  pictures  of  Lenin  or 
Stalin  or  the  local  leaders. 

Alongside  of  books  on  Leninism  and  talk  about  the 
Five- Year  Plan,  one  finds  vestiges  of  the  ancient  Iranian 
reverence  for  the  sun  and  for  fire  all  over  the  country.  An 
orthodox  mountain  Tadjik  will  never  extinguish  a  fire  by 
blowing,  for  the  human  breath  is  impure,  but  by  the  wav- 
ing of  his  hand.  He  will  never  pour  or  throw  anything 
impure  into  burning  embers.  During  the  wedding  cere- 
mony, he  will  follow  custom  in  making  a  bonfire  in  order 
to  drive  away  all  evil  from  the  newly  weds.  And  the  first 
remedy  he  will  resort  to  in  treating  sickness  will  be  the 
lighting  of  candles. 

Belief  in  all  sorts  of  evil  spirits  that  bring  sickness  is 
still  extant.  There  is,  for  instance,  the  "Div"  or  "Dev." 
(Forms  of  this  word  are  found  in  various  modern 
European  and  Asian  languages.)  Div,  according  to  the 
Tadjik,  is  a  spirit  haunting  mountains  and  deserted  places, 
an  evil  creature,  harmful  to  man,  the  cause  of  sickness  and 
madness. 

In  Tadjik  fairy-tales  frequent  reference  is  made  to  the 
land  of  the  Divs— an  enchanted  region  utterly  unlike  arid 
Central  Asia— a  land  of  dense  forests  and  perennial  rains, 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN    TADJIKISTAN  263 

located  somewhere  at  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  Iran, 
by  the  southern  shores  of  the  Caspian  Sea. 

There  are  numerous  other  Iranian  superstitious  rem- 
nants: the  rite  of  leaping  over  bonfires  and  leading  the 
sick  members  of  the  community  thrice  around  the  fires, 
and  then  making  them  jump  across  them;  the  fixing  of 
marriage  engagements  by  the  breaking  of  bread;  the  dis- 
tribution of  little  pieces  of  bread  to  those  present  when  a 
baby  is  being  put  in  its  crib;  the  belief  that  after  death 
man's  soul  crosses  a  bridge,  as  narrow  as  the  sharp  edge  of 
a  knife,  suspended  over  the  precipices  of  hell;  the  spring 
festivities  of  the  Red  Flower,  similar  to  the  May  festivities 
among  some  European  peoples;  the  custom  of  coloring 
eggs,  precisely  the  same  as  is  practiced  at  Easter  time  in 
the  Russian  villages.  All  these  superstitions,  our  guide 
assures  us,  are  rapidly  disappearing  "in  the  light  of  Marx- 
ism-Leninism/' 

"Give  us  roads  and  bridges  and  we'll  give  you  a  Soviet 
Switzerland  in  return,"  once  said  Khodzhibaiev.  He  was 
right.  One  sees  very  few  bridges  here  which  can  support 
more  than  a  single  horseman  at  a  time.  Not  infrequently 
even  a  single  horseman  appears  too  heavy  for  the  logs  and 
cross  boards  connecting  the  two  beautifully  constructed 
timber  supports  that  stretch  toward  each  other  across  the 
river  and  form  something  in  the  nature  of  an  arch.  From  a 
distance  one  cannot  but  admire  these  marvelously  grace- 
ful and  ethereal  structures.  But  to  be  on  them,  and  to  look 
down  into  the  rushing  milky  waters  below,  is  another  mat- 
ter. Everything  shakes.  The  head  goes  round  and  round. 
One  is  ready  to  faint.  Shortly  before  our  visit,  a  letter- 
carrier  who  was  taking  mail  to  the  Pamir  had  fallen  off 
such  a  bridge  together  with  his  horse  and  had  been  dashed 
to  death. 

There  was  a  fine  newly  built  wooden  bridge  across  the 
Kafirnigan  River,  a  bridge  wide  enough  and  apparently 
solid  enough  for  any  vehicle.  But  it  is  not  for  nothing  that 
the  river  is  named  Kafirnigan— the  faithless  one,  the 
treacherous  one.  After  a  few  weeks  the  bridge  was  washed 


264  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

away,  though  I  am  not  quite  certain  whether  it  was  the 
river  or  the  engineer  who  in  that  case  was  guilty  of 
treachery. 

When  I  had  to  cross  the  Kafirnigan  a  second  time,  I  had 
to  do  it  on  what  the  natives  called  a  "crib."  This  odd 
device  consists  of  a  few  boards  roughly  nailed  together 
and  attached  by  four  flimsy  ropes  to  a  pulley  which  rolls 
on  a  steel  cable  across  the  river.  The  "crib"  accommodates 
only  one  person  at  a  time.  I  climbed  into  it,  stretched 
flat  on  my  stomach,  and  was  pulled  across.  I  do  not  know 
whether  this  crossing  was  as  perilous  as  it  appeared  to 
me  then.  The  sensation  was  certainly  unique,  with  the 
stream  roaring  angrily  far  below  as  it  hurled  its  glacier 
waters  against  the  million  bowlders  glistening  in  the  hot 
sun. 

The  most  usual  way  of  crossing  a  river  is  on  a  burdiuk, 
a  blown-up  sheep  skin.  A  few  such  burdiuks  tied  together 
make  an  adequate  raft.  The  natives  steer  the  raft  with 
their  legs.  It  is  borne  obliquely  down  the  stream,  drift- 
ing sometimes  miles  out  of  the  way  before  it  reaches  the 
other  side.  This,  too,  is  not  the  safest  nor  the  most  com- 
fortable way  of  crossing  a  river.  One  wonders  how  many 
Five- Year  Plans  will  be  needed  to  make  travel  safe  and 
comfortable  in  Tadjikistan. 

Higher  in  the  mountains.  Less  verdure.  The  buildings 
are  much  poorer,  gloomy  little  huts  made  of  stone.  Along- 
side, many  of  the  huts  there  are  places  for  the  cattle. 
More  often,  however,  the  cattle  are  housed  together  with 
the  human  beings.  Every  dwelling  has  a  hole  in  the  center 
of  the  floor,  at  the  bottom  of  which  in  cold  weather  a  dish 
with  burning  coal  is  placed.  Over  the  hole  there  is  a 
special  wooden  grate  in  the  shape  of  a  little  bench.  The 
whole  thing  is  covered  with  a  huge  quilt.  The  only  way 
to  keep  warm  is  to  shove  your  legs  under  the  quilt.  During 
the  winter  the  entire  family  gathers  around  this  "hearth," 
with  the  legs  beneath  the  quilt,  and  sits  this  way  for  hours 
trying  to  keep  warm.  In  view  of  the  dearth  of  fuel,  this 
is  probably  the  most  expedient  and  economical  way  to  ob- 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  265 

tain  and  preserve  heat.  And  yet  it  was  in  just  such  a 
primitive  hut  that  a  Tadjik  village  teacher  was  talking  of 
"overtaking  and  surpassing  the  capitalist  countries!" 

The  Tadjiks  are  very  hospitable.  They  run  out  to  meet 
you;  they  hold  the  bridle  of  your  horse  while  you  alight. 
They  spread  rugs  and  quilts  under  some  shady  tree  and 
immediately  bring  out  the  best  they  can  offer.  What  often 
repels  the  Westerner  in  the  old-fashioned  Tadjik  home 
is  the  greasy  cloth  which  is  placed  in  the  center  of  the 
rug  and  on  which  the  food  is  served.  The  greasier  the 
cloth,  the  more  reason  for  the  host's  pride,  for  it  is  evi- 
dence of  his  frequent  entertainment  and  his  rich  cuisine. 
In  such  homes  hygiene  is  still  observed  in  the  ancient 
Central  Asian  delightful  manner.  Thus,  since  practically 
all  of  the  eating  is  done  with  the  hands,  it  is  desirable  that 
the  hands  should  be  washed  before  each  meal.  The  old 
host  recognizes  that,  and  he  always  brings  out  a  pitcher  of 
water  and  pours  a  few  drops  on  the  hands  of  each  guest. 
If  you  look  for  something  to  dry  your  hands  with,  the 
host,  if  he  is  not  yet  touched  by  modernity,  very  solemnly 
lifts  the  corner  of  his  old  cloak,  which  he  has  probably 
worn  for  years  and  under  all  kinds  of  conditions,  and 
offers  it  to  you.  When  he  wants  to  show  special  considera- 
tion, he  very  carefully  fishes  out  a  handful  of  mutton  and 
rice  (pilaf)  and  solicitously  raises  it  to  the  mouth  of  his 
guest.  And  the  latter  is  expected  to  be  pleased  with  the 
honor  of  eating  the  first  mouthful  from  the  host's  greasy 
hands.  Almost  invariably  the  younger  members  of  the 
family  make  some  apologetic  remark  about  the  old  man's 
not  knowing  any  better. 

Many  divorces  take  place  because  of  the  husbands  be- 
coming too  cultured.  Such  men  like  to  marry  European 
women. 

As  we  pass  through  the  villages  we  hear  repeatedly  that 
the  peasants  have  applied  to  the  government  to  form  a 
kolkhoz.  But  the  government  has  not  yet  approved.  Bazarov 


266  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

explains:  "It's  no  use  encouraging  the  organization  of  a 
kolkhoz  when  you're  in  no  position  to  assure  its  successful 
operation.  Organization  without  help  is  worse  than  no 
organization.  We  must  give  service  when  we  organize  a 
kolkhoz." 

In  the  inaccessible  mountain  regions  in  the  Pamir,  we 
are  informed,  remnants  of  the  Shiite  sect  are  to  be  found. 
According  to  that  sect,  the  family  line  of  Ali  has  not  been 
broken.  All's  offspring  is  Aga-Khan,  who  is  revered  by 
the  Ismailites  as  the  living  God.  "Aga-Khan,"  explains 
our  Tadjik  guide,  a  student,  "resides  in  Bombay,  under 
the  solicitous  protection  of  the  English.  He  owns  huge 
factories.  The  English  are  trying  to  win  over  the  ignorant 
mountaineers  of  Soviet  and  Afghan  Badakhshan  by  being 
kind  to  Aga-Khan.  They  shower  all  kinds  of  benefits  and 
titles  upon  him.  They  have  even  granted  him  the  title  of 
'Highness,'  and  of  'Prince  of  the  British  Empire.'  The 
present  Aga-Khan  has  received  a  European  education. 
Dressed  like  an  English  dandy,  he  makes  frequent  trips 
to  England,  where  he  mingles  in  highest  society.  The  liv- 
ing God  of  the  Ismailites  is  passionately  fond  of  races;  he 
gambles  away  fortunes  playing  horses.  And  while  Aga-Khan 
fox-trots  in  London  or  Paris,  while  he  is  busy  yachting  and 
gambling,  the  poor,  half-starved  Tadjiks  on  the  Pamir 
gather  their  last  pennies  to  be  sent  as  the  yearly  tribute  to 
Aga-Khan,  the  incarnation  of  God  on  earth.  According  to 
Lapin,  every  year  in  the  month  of  July,  the  Ismailites  elect 
representatives,  vakils,  whose  duties  it  is  to  pay  their  re- 
spects and  to  deliver  the  collected  moneys  to  their  god. 
These  messengers  are  sometimes  bitterly  disappointed,  for 
it  happens  quite  often  that  his  Worshipful  Highness  is 
not  disposed  to  meet  his  faithful  followers.  When  he  does 
invite  these  rude  mountaineers  to  appear  before  his  pres- 
ence, this  Europeanized  gentleman  is  not  above  resorting  to 
trickery  to  impress  them.  These  ignorant  Tadjiks,  on 
their  return  to  their  villages,  spread  all  kinds  of  legends 
about  Aga-Khan:  'He  is  a  God!  He  walks  over  to  the  wall, 
turns  a  handle,  and  a  stream  of  crystal  water  gushes  forth 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  267 

into  his  glass.  And  his  house  is  tall,  tall You  enter  a 

box  below,  and  suddenly  you  find  yourself  on  top.  The 

food  appears  before  you  mysteriously '  "  On  hearing 

that,  Bazarov,  a  valley  Tadjik,  exclaims:  "We  can  show 
them  greater  wonders  than  that  in  Stalinabad!" 

The  village  of  Kazak  in  the  Sarai  Komar  region  organ- 
ized a  collective  farm  composed  exclusively  of  former 
Basmachi.  It  is  reputed  to  be  the  best  kolkhoz  in  the  whole 
region. 

Kuliab.  Demchenko  of  the  OGPU  speaking:  "On  March 
22nd  one  of  Ibrahim  Bek's  bands  attempted  to  seize 
Kuliab.  Our  Red  Sticks,  thirty  people  in  all,  could  not 
take  care  of  them.  The  army  provided  an  additional 
thirty  men.  In  the  battle  that  followed,  our  losses  were 
only  two  wounded  Red  Army  men.  The  Basmachi  lost 
thirty-five  people  in  killed.  The  number  of  wounded  I  do 
not  know.  Among  the  killed  Basmachi  we  found  three 
Russians.  One  of  them  was  Marshevsky,  our  own  tech- 
nician on  the  water  works.  On  him  we  found  a  pair  of 
field  glasses  and  a  map  showing  a  plan  of  attack  on  Kuliab. 
Marshevsky  had  absconded  on  the  nineteenth  of  February 
with  two  thousand  rubles  of  Government  money  and  our 
best  horse.  His  purpose  was  to  get  away  to  England,  but 
in  Afghanistan  he  joined  Ibrahim's  band.  Marshevsky  was 
a  son  of  a  Kiev  kulak.  Two  of  his  brothers,  White  Guards, 
had  left  with  the  Wrangel  army.  Marshevsky  remained  in 
Russia.  Hiding  his  identity,  he  managed  to  enter  the 
Moscow  University,  but  when  he  was  in  his  third  year, 
he  was  discovered  and  expelled.  He  worked  in  Kuliab 
about  six  months.  It  is  interesting  that  when  he  disap- 
peared, the  other  specialists  on  the  water  works  insisted 
that  he  must  have  been  killed  by  the  Basmachi.  But  re- 
cently they  had  a  meeting  at  which  they  denounced  him 
as  a  traitor.  Who  knows  how  many  Marshevskys  we  have 
around  here!" 

Guliam  Kadir  was  a  Basmach.  He  has  come  over  to  the 
Soviet  side.  "When  I  was  on  my  way  to  Faizabad  from 


268  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Afghanistan,"  he  says,  "I  saw  forty  women  working  on 
one  field.  This  was  something  new.  I  stopped  my  horse  and 
asked  the  women  about  it.  It  was  a  kolkhoz.  And  I  thought 
it  was  forced  labor.  I  could  not  imagine  women  working 
voluntarily.  That  was  the  first  sign  of  the  new  life." 

In  the  village  of  Sarmatai  the  peasants  took  violent  ex- 
ception to  the  local  Soviet  program  on  the  ground  that  it 
made  no  provisions  for  a  school  for  women. 

The  head  of  the  Communist  Party  in  Sarmatai:  "We 
were  gathering  Red  Stick  volunteers.  We  issued  a  call  to 
the  nearest  three  villages.  The  peasants  of  another  village, 
quite  as  near,  felt  offended.  'Can't  we  be  trusted  to  defend 
the  Soviet  government?'  they  asked.  'We'll  complain  to 
the  highest  authorities.'  We  had  to  apologize  and  take 
some  of  them  in." 

"And  here  is  Varsobstroyl"  exclaims  Khodzhaiev,  as  he 
leaps  out  of  the  still  moving  truck. 

We  are  nonplussed.  Words  ending  with  stroy  are  very 
common  in  the  Soviet  Union.  Who  hasn't  heard  of 
Dnieprostroy,  Volkhovstroy,  Vakhshstroy,  and  a  hundred 
other  stroys  all  over  this  vast  country  of  Soviets?  But  stroy 
means  construction,  building;  it  implies  bustle,  hubbub, 
panting  trucks,  rasping  cranes,  the  hissing  of  steam  en- 
gines—in short,  it  implies  visible,  audible,  tangible  evi- 
dence of  work,  and,  in  the  Soviet  Union,  of  feverish  work. 
While  here  there  is  nothing;  only  a  steel  cable  drawn 
across  the  foaming  Dushambe,  only  a  wooden  box  (the 
natives  call  it  a  "crib")  suspended  from  the  cable;  and  at  a 
distance,  near  the  village  of  Shafte  Mishgoi,  a  few  rough 
hewn  barracks  and  some  workmen.  Instead  of  activity, 
there  is  desolation,  quiet,  bare  mountains  frowning  on  all 
sides 

"Varsobstroy— that  sounds  big!"  jests  the  German 
comrade. 

"It  doesn't  only  sound  big;  it  is  big,"  smiles  Gindin,  the 
hydro-electric  engineer  in  charge  of  the  construction,  as 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  269 

he  shakes  our  hands.  "In  Tadjikistan  a  hydro-electrical 
station  giving  10,000  h.  p.  is  no  small  matter." 

"It  certainly  isn't,"  corroborates  Khodzhaiev.  "Not  with 
the  difficulties  we  are  having  here." 

Slapping  Gindin  vigorously  on  the  back,  Khodzhaiev  de- 
clares proudly,  "Aaron  Markovich  Gindin  is  a  real  en- 
gineer, a  Soviet  engineer,  one  of  the  heroes  of  the 
piatiletka.  Tell  them  how  you  got  here,  Gindin;  the  re- 
ception we  gave  you  in  Stalinabad,  the  encouragement." 

Both  laugh  gayly. 

Gindin,  however,  is  reticent.  Sunburnt,  his  skin  as  black 
as  a  native's,  stocky,  vigorous-looking,  this  Russian-Jewish 
fellow  is  almost  girlishly  bashful.  He  is  glad  to  tell  you  all 
about  the  Varsobstroy  project,  about  the  difficulties,  and 
the  prospects,  but  he  becomes  as  silent  as  a  clam  when  the 
conversation  turns  to  his  personal  achievements.  "It  doesn't 
really  matter,"  he  protests  feebly,  as  Khodzhaiev  proceeds 
to  expatiate  on  Gindin's  self-sacrificing  work.  At  the  first 
opportunity,  he  slips  away  to  the  barracks,  "to  see  the 
men." 

Gindin  gone,  Khodzhaiev  becomes  eulogistic.  "He  has 
the  real  stuff  in  him,  he  is  genuine  pioneer  material.  Noth- 
ing scares  him,  nothing  stops  him.  He  is  not  a  Party  man; 
but  his  loyalty,  his  devotion  are  unflinching.  When  he 
came  here,  he  had  nothing  but  a  portfolio  under  his  arm, 
and  determination.  For  two  months  we  had  no  living 
quarters  for  him,  so  he  slept  on  a  desk  in  one  of  the  offices 
of  the  VSNKH.  The  bureaucrats  here  refused  to  take  him 
seriously,  he  was  too  young,  they  said,  to  be  intrusted  with 
a  big  job.  It  was  only  after  Gindin  produced  proof  of  hav- 
ing been  graduated  from  the  Temiriazev  Academy  in  1926, 
of  having  been  in  charge  of  the  construction  of  a  huge 
dam  in  the  Transcaucasus,  of  having  then  been  appointed 
chief  engineer  of  the  hydro-electric  irrigation  works  in 
Tashkent,  that  he  was  given  a  hearing.  Then  he  was  con- 
fronted with  the  lack  of  funds.  Then  the  question  of 
building  materials  came  up,  then  of  transportation,  then 
of  workers,  then  of  food  and  shelter  for  them.  Further- 
more, in  the  spring  there  arose  the  additional  danger  of 


27O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

the  Basmachi.  Varsobstroy  is  seventeen  kilometers  from 
Stalinabad,  it  is  an  almost  completely  deserted  gorge,  ex- 
posed to  bandit  attacks  at  almost  any  time.  But  Gindin 
never  wavered.  The  project  was  practicable,  and  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  see  it  through.  His  dream  is  to  have 
the  entire  Varsob  region  electrified.  To  construct  an  elec- 
tric railway  from  Stalinabad  to  Samarkand,  to  turn  this 
valley  into  the  hunting  ground  of  European  tourists,  to 
eclipse  Switzerland  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  to  make 
a  Soviet  Switzerland.  He  has  all  kinds  of  dreams  for  Tad- 
jikistan; and  he  neither  a  Communist  nor  a  Tadjik!" 

When  Gindin  comes  back,  he  tells  a  little  about  the 
work  here.  I  am  no  engineer;  and  many  things  aren't 
clear  to  me.  However,  the  skeleton  of  the  plan  is  this:  a 
dam  180  meters  long,  from  there  a  canal  1,126  meters  long 
and  from  3  to  4  meters  deep.  The  excavation  work  will 
amount  to  about  28,000  cubic  meters.  The  total  cost  will 
be  nine  million  rubles.  The  cost  of  current  won't  exceed 
3  kopecks  per  kilowatt  hour,  whereas  the  present  cost  in 
Stalinabad  is  70  kopecks.  By  September  first,  there  will  be 
here  a  settlement  of  1,800  people,  with  stores,  bakeries, 
clubs,  etc. 

"Now  tell  of  the  difficulties,"  suggests  Khodzhaiev.  "Let 
the  comrades  know  what  it  means  to  build  socialism  in 
this  wild  country." 

"It's  too  much  to  tell,"  laughs  Gindin.  "Briefly,  we  need 
ten  automobile  trucks,  150  horses,  140  wagons,  400  tons 
of  iron.  We  have— not  one  truck,  only  34  horses,  only  25 
wagons,  only  one  ton  of  iron." 

There  is  a  considerable  slump  in  our  enthusiasm:  it  is 
one  thing  to  plan,  and  another  to  carry  out  the  plan. 

"How  in  hell  do  you  expect  to  carry  on  the  work?"  asks 
the  French  comrade  in  a  choking  voice. 

"We  have  pulled  through  worse  fixes,"  rumbles  the  ir- 
repressible Khodzhaiev  reassuringly.  "We  know  that  the 
materials  are  on  the  way;  when  they  arrive,  we'll  have  to 
do  some  real  hustling,  that's  all." 

"If  everything  were  on  hand,"  rejoins  Gindin,  "if  there 
were  no  bureaucrats,  and  saboteurs,  and  self-seekers,  there 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  271 

would  be  no  trick  in  building.  Sure,  it's  hard.  But  we'll  do 
it,  won't  we,  Khodzhaiev?" 

"We  certainly  will!"  shouts  Khodzhaiev,  laying  his  heavy 
hand  on  Gindin's  shoulders.  "And  three  years  from  now 
we'll  invite  our  comrades  to  come  here  and  take  a  trip 
through  the  mountains  on  our  luxurious  mountain 
railway " 

"The  Bolsheviks  certainly  know  how  to  dream,"  remarks 
our  Norwegian  companion. 

"Fortunately,  they  are  also  learning  how  to  work,"  re- 
torts Gindin. 

The  workers  are  gathering  around  the  long  flat  shed 
which  serves  as  the  temporary  dining  room  at  Varsobstroy. 
It  is  twilight.  The  hot  sun  has  sunk  behind  the  mountains. 
The  village,  the  gorge,  the  river,  the  barracks— everything 
seems  to  be  enjoying  the  cool  evening  shadows. 

In  the  long  shed  two  oil  lamps  cast  a  dim  light  on  the 
heads  of  the  workers.  In  its  flicker,  faces  look  rather  queer, 
figures  tenuous,  shadows  grotesque.  There  is  something 
strangely  similar  between  this  country  and  this  rough- 
looking  crowd  and  what  my  imagination  has  always  pic- 
tured our  American  Wild  West  to  have  been.  The  work- 
ers who  have  come  to  this  remote  and  forsaken  place  are 
not  just  ordinary  workers  one  meets  anywhere  in  the  world. 
They  are  adventurers,  pioneers,  seekers  after  the  unusual. 
Cutting  tunnels  through  mountains,  erecting  electrical 
stations  in  the  desert,  laying  roads  in  the  heart  of  Asia, 
building  bridges  across  black  chasms,  this  is  the  work  that 
attracts  them.  Are  they  Bolsheviks  because  they  have  the 
pioneering  spirit  in  them,  or  are  they  pioneers  because 
they  have  been  stirred  by  the  spirit  of  Bolshevism?  It  is 
hard  to  tell.  The  two  things  are  so  inextricably  inter- 
woven. One  thing  is  unquestionable:  these  men  have  set 
out  to  build  a  new  order,  a  new  proletarian  society.  A 
gigantic  task?  Certainly.  But  such  men  are  made  for  such 
tasks. 

The  meal  over,  a  short  meeting  to  honor  the  foreign 
guests  is  proposed.  The  whole  thing  is  spontaneous,  in- 


272  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

formal.  One  of  the  guests  delivers  a  few  words  of  greeting 
and  invites  the  workers  to  ask  questions  about  the  foreign 
lands  and  suggests  that  there  be  an  exchange  of  opinions. 

The  workers  hesitate  to  speak.  These  people  are  no 
orators,  no  after-dinner  speakers.  Words  do  not  come  read- 
ily to  them. 

Finally,  one  worker  rises  and  asks  in  a  halting  Russian 
whether  he  may  speak  in  German.  He  is  met  with  encour- 
aging exclamations:  "Go  on,  Karl!  Let  it  be  German,  the 
comrades  know  German!  Shoot!" 

Karl  tells  an  unpretentious  story.  He  had  been  a  farm 
hand  before  the  Revolution,  working  for  the  rich  German 
kulaks  on  the  Volga.  It  was  veritable  slavery  then.  The 
Revolution  has  done  a  great  deal  for  him  and  for  the  other 
poor  peasants  in  that  region.  He  glories  in  the  national 
equality  granted  to  all  peoples  in  the  vast  Union  of  the 
Soviets.  In  short,  "long  live  the  Soviet  Union,  long  live  the 
Communist  Party!" 

Karl  has  broken  the  ice.  Many  workers  get  up  to  speak 
in  their  native  languages:  a  Persian,  a  Tadjik,  a  couple 
of  Russians,  a  Jew,  an  Uzbek,  a  Tartar,  a  Turkoman,  an 
Armenian. 

The  least  articulate  and  the  most  effective  speaker  is 
the  Armenian.  He  and  a  group  of  other  Armenians  have 
come  here  from  Baku,  they  have  organized  their  own  shock 
brigade,  and  they  have  signed  up  to  remain  in  Tadjikistan 
up  to  the  successful  completion  of  the  Piatiletka.  "We 
want  to  help  the  Soviet  Union  build  a  better  society,"  he 
concludes. 

The  person  who  seems  to  be  most  affected  by  the  meet- 
ing is  Khodzhaiev.  "A  real  international  gathering  here,  in 
the  wilds,  on  the  shore  of  the  Dushambe. . . .  Isn't  it 
wonderful!" 

When  the  meeting  is  over,  we  file  out  of  the  shed, 
followed  by  the  crowd  of  jostling  workers.  There  is  warm 
shaking  of  hands,  and  countless  requests  for  proletarian 
greetings  to  be  transmitted  to  the  workers  in  the  capitalist 
countries.  "Tell  them  to  start  something  real,  and  we'll 
come  to  help  them,"  shouts  Karl.  And  as  our  truck  plunges 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN 

into  the  deep  Southern  night,  the  Internationale  sung  in 
a  dozen  different  tongues  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
roaring  Dushambe,  crashes  through  the  crisp  mountain 
air  and,  reverberating  in  a  million  echoes  through  the 
Varsob  valley,  rolls  along  the  mountain  tops,  hits  against 
the  snowy  peak  of  Lenintau,  and  vanishes  in  the  starry 
spaces. 


XV 

NEW  WOMEN  IN  OLD  ASIA 

//  you  throw  a  stone  into  a  deep  well, 
It  will  go  to  the  bottom,  O  mother  dear. 
If  you  sell  your  young  daughter  to  strangers, 
She  will  cry  her  eyes  out,  she  will  perish, 
O  mother  dear. . . . 

Along  the  road  that  takes  me  from  my  home, 
Sow  thorny  weeds  and  thistles,  O  mother  dear. 
And  when  you  see  the  thistles  droop  their  heads, 
You'll  know  that  I  have  faded  out  of  life, 

O  mother  dear. 

Pre-Revolutionary  Turkoman  Girl's  Song. 


Gray  or  Dark-blue  Coffins 

TO  a  Westerner  traveling  in  the  Orient,  one  of  the  most 
haunting  experiences  is,  no  doubt,  his  first  encounter 
with  those  strangely  amorphous,  ghost-like  creatures  that 
glide,  silent  and  mysterious,  through  the  narrow-winding, 
deserted  alleys  of  any  Central-Asian  town  or  village.  The 
experience  is  even  more  ghastly  if  one  chances  upon  such 
a  figure  while  it  is  at  rest— a  gray  or  dark-blue  coffin  stand- 
ing stiffly  on  end,  covered  with  a  black,  bulging,  heavy 
lid. 

These  are  the  women  of  Central  Asia,  vestiges  of  a 
remote  past,  living  corpses  eternally  imprisoned  in  their 
coffins.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  anything  quite  so  mon- 
strous and  degrading  as  this  traditional  costume 
(paranja),  this  formless  cloak  with  its  long,  wide,  empty 
sleeves  tied  on  the  back,  and  its  thick,  black,  horse-hair 
net  suspended  in  front  of  the  face,  from  the  top  of  the 
head  to  a  little  below  the  waist.  This  is  how  the  local 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  275 

Moslem,  still  untouched  by  Communist  teaching,  protects 
his  woman  from  the  impure  glances  of  the  stranger.  The 
woman  can  see  the  world,  but  the  world  cannot  see  her. 
Even  little  girls  of  nine  or  ten  are  thus  protected  from 
immodest  appraisals  of  their  pulchritude.  This  custom  is 
rigid,  absolute.  The  emotional  ramparts  built  around  it 
by  vested  economic  interest  and  religion  are  well-nigh 
insurmountable.  Despite  Bolshevik  onslaughts,  they  have 
held  out  in  the  more  inaccessible  regions  and  even  in 
such  cities  as  Tashkent  and  Samarkand. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  snap  a  photograph  of  a  native 
woman.  The  slightest  suspicious  move  in  her  direction 
and  she  flees  as  if  pursued  by  a  thousand  devils.  More 
than  once  our  cavalcade,  on  espying  women  working  in 
the  fields,  would  begin  to  focus  cameras,  only  to  have 
the  women  drop  precipitously  to  the  ground  and  cover 
themselves  with  whatever  they  could  lay  hands  on.  Not 
before  they  heard  the  clatter  of  our  horses'  hoofs  die  away 
in  the  distance  would  they  venture  to  peep  out  from  under 
their  covers. 

Besides  being  offensive  to  the  eye,  the  paranja  is  irritat- 
ing to  the  nose.  It  always  emanates  a  faint  odor  of  per- 
spiration mingled  with  that  of  mutton.  Generally,  it  is 
filthy  and  insect-ridden,  and  is  the  cause  of  multifarious 
eye  and  skin  diseases.  It  shuts  from  the  woman  and  her 
suckling  babe  the  benefits  of  sunshine  and  fresh  air,  and 
is  accountable,  in  large  measure,  for  the  prevalence  of 
lung-trouble  among  the  women  and  for  the  frequent 
stunted  growth  of  children. 

What  makes  the  paranja  especially  significant  is  that  it 
serves  as  a  symbol  of  the  utter  degradation  and  humilia- 
tion of  the  Moslem  woman  in  Central  Asia.  "Obedience 
and  silence  are  a  woman's  greatest  virtues,"  says  the 
Prophet.  "If  a  Moslem  is  in  need  of  good  counsel,"  the 
Uzbeks  say,  "let  him  turn  to  his  sire;  if  there  is  no  sire,  let 
him  ask  his  older  brother,  or  uncle,  or  neighbor;  if  there 
is  no  one  of  these  about,  let  him  consult  his  wife— and  do 
exactly  the  opposite  of  what  she  says."  Contempt  for  the 


276  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

woman  seems  to  be  one  of  the  most  sacred  articles  of  a 
Central  Asian's  faith. 

Boys  are  a  blessing  in  a  home;  girls  a  curse.  When  too 
many  girls  are  born  into  a  family,  it  is  the  mother  who  is 
held  responsible.  (Childlessness  and  infant  mortality  are 
also  blamed  on  the  mother.)  To  congratulate  a  father  on 
the  birth  of  a  daughter  is  a  mortal  insult  and  may  entail 
a  bitter  family  feud.  I  knew  a  woman  in  Tashkent,  Mozol 
Kolontarov,  who  had  given  birth  to  six  girls  in  succession. 
Mozol  felt  terribly  guilty  before  her  husband.  After  an  in- 
terval of  seven  years,  she  had  another  opportunity  to  re- 
deem herself.  Frantic  with  fear  and  misgiving,  she  kept 
on  reiterating  that  she  would  much  rather  die  than  have 
another  girl.  Fate  was  unkind  to  her;  she  bore  a  girl  once 
more.  When  she  beheld  the  newly  born  infant,  Mozol 
died  of  grief. 

According  to  both  the  common  law  code  (adat)  and 
the  religious  code  (sheriat) ,  a  woman  may  be  bought  and 
sold  and  transferred  from  one  man  to  another  without 
herself  being  in  any  way  consulted.  According  to  the 
sheriat,  the  husband  has*  a  right  to  punish  his  wife's  diso- 
bedience by  keeping  her  incarcerated  in  the  house  and  by 
discreet  use  of  corporal  punishment.  Cruelty,  torture,  and 
even  maiming  are  not  sufficient  grounds  for  divorce.  Ac- 
cording to  the  old  law,  the  testimony  of  one  man  is 
equivalent  to  that  of  two  women.  The  woman  is  rarely 
permitted  to  leave  her  home  without  a  male  escort.  While 
at  home,  she  is  confined  to  the  ichkari— woman's  section  of 
the  house— where  she  remains  whenever  her  husband  en- 
tertains visitors  in  the  man's  section.  In  the  street,  a  woman 
dare  not  stop,  or  cough,  or  linger,  or  look  back;  she  must 
just  keep  on  walking.  Polygamy,  child  marriage,  and  pur- 
chase of  brides  (kalym)  are  all  essential  features  of 
woman's  status  in  Central  Asia.  She  is  a  chattel,  a  slave. 

Yet  there  is  evidence— often  cited  by  the  emancipated 
Tadjiks  and  Uzbeks— that  the  woman  had  not  always  oc- 
cupied such  an  abject  place  in  the  social  scheme  of  these 
peoples.  Numerous  legends  and  myths  preserved  by  some 
Tadjik  mountain  tribes  make  mention  of  heroic  women 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  277 

and  of  brave  and  wise  female  rulers.  There  is  the  story 
of  Queen  Tamiris,  of  how  she  and  her  nomadic  subjects 
had  won  a  mighty  victory  over  the  great  Persian  ruler 
Cyrus.  There  is  the  memory  of  Queen  Khatun,  the  wise 
ruler  of  Bokhara,  who  reigned  during  the  troublous  years 
of  the  early  Arab  invasions  of  Central  Asia. 

It  was,  indeed,  with  the  coming  of  the  Arabs  and  the 
gradual  triumph  of  Islam  that  the  position  of  the  woman 
among  the  Iranian  aborigines  of  what  is  now  known  as 
Tadjikistan  began  to  decline,  less  rapidly  among  the 
nomads  in  the  steppes  and  the  peasants  in  the  mountains, 
where  the  woman  was  an  important  economic  factor  in 
the  family  organization;  more  rapidly  among  the  settled 
urban  population— merchants,  mullahs,  officials,  etc.— 
where  the  woman  was  economically  unimportant  and 
where  the  influence  of  the  Mohammedan  religion  had 
taken  firmer  root. 

This  process  continued  during  and  after  the  Tiurko- 
Mongolian  invasion.  However,  originally,  that  is  before 
they  surrendered  to  Moslem  influences,  the  Tiurko-Mon- 
golian  nomads,  too,  had  known  of  no  special  disabilities 
for  women.  Like  the  Aryan  folklore,  Tiurkish  folklore 
has  references  to  heroic  women.  There  is  the  legend,  for 
example,  of  a  detachment  of  female  warriors  who  had 
fought  a  valiant  battle  on  the  walls  of  Geok-Teppe.  Also 
there  is  the  beautiful  Tiurkish  legend  about  the  woman 
musician  Khelai-Bakhshi  who  had  triumphed  over  all  her 
male  rivals,  especially  the  celebrated  musician  Ker-Jepali 
who  had  challenged  her  to  a  contest.  Khelai-Bakhshi  was 
with  child  then.  Her  labor  pains  were  about  to  begin.  But 
she  accepted  the  challenge  of  Ker-Jepali.  The  unusual  con- 
test lasted  a  long  time.  When,  midnight  came,  Khelai- 
Bakhshi  turned  to  her  husband,  asking  him  what  he  pre- 
ferred, a  child  or  victory.  "Victory,"  said  the  husband 
unhesitatingly.  Then  Khelai-Bakhshi  excused  herself  for  a 
little  while.  She  gave  birth  to  her  child,  handed  it  over 
to  her  relatives,  and  came  back  to  proceed  with  the  con- 
test. She  beat  the  old  and  famous  Ker-Jepali,  and  he  rode 
away  with  lowered  head. 


278  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Green  Frogs  and  Free  Women 

It  was  toward  evening,  after  our  customary  visits  to  the 
schools,  cooperative,  the  orphanage,  the  primitive  silk 
works,  and  the  other  interesting  places  in  the  village,  that 
our  group,  while  lounging  on  the  huge  woolen  rug  and 
pile  of  blankets  spread  out  under  the  magnificent  plane 
tree  on  the  side  of  a  pool  and  sipping  interminably  the 
inevitable  tea  from  capacious  pialas,  induced  our  hostess, 
the  organizer  of  the  local  Woman's  Department,  to  tell  us 
a  little  of  her  life.  Prompted  and  guided  by  our  questions, 
occasionally  interrupted  and  put  back  on  the  right  track, 
Khoziat  Markulanova  told  us  her  story. 

She  was  born  in  Fergana.  Her  father  was  a  weaver,  a 
devout  Moslem.  Her  mother  was  of  peasant  stock.  From 
her  earliest  childhood,  Khoziat,  her  two  sisters  and  her 
mother  were  working  at  embroidering  skull  caps.  Her  two 
brothers  were  bakers.  Hers  was  an  industrious,  hard-work- 
ing family. 

When  Khoziat  was  eight  years  old,  her  mother  made 
her  a  little  paranja.  Khoziat  cried  and  refused  to  put  it  on. 
But  her  mother  said  that  she  was  too  pretty  and  that  if 
she  didn't  go  covered  the  Bek's  procurers  would  grab  her. 
Khoziat  did  not  know  what  that  meant,  but  she  had  heard 
so  many  stories  of  how  little  girls  died  in  the  Bek's  palace 
that  she  was  glad  to  put  on  the  paranja. 

When  Khoziat  reached  the  age  of  fourteen,  her  mother 
began  to  be  worried.  Most  of  her  daughter's  former  friends 
were  already  married.  Marriage  now  began  to  be  discussed 
in  Khoziat's  presence.  Once,  her  father,  looking  very 
pleased,  marched  into  the  ichkari  and  whispered  something 
to  her  mother.  Khoziat  did  not  know  what  he  said,  but  she 
had  a  feeling  that  it  was  about  marriage.  Her  heart  sank,  as 
she  was  terribly  afraid  of  being  given  to  an  old  man.  Pre- 
tending to  be  busy  with  the  dishes,  she  strained  to  make 
out  what  was  being  said.  She  heard  her  mother  ask:  "Have 
they  anything?"  and  her  father  answer:  "Not  rich,  but 
they  have  something."  Her  mother  nodded  assent. 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  279 

What  happened  was  this:  The  village  imaum  and  AH 
Nazarov  had  come  to  feel  out  the  old  Markulanov  as  to 
what  his  attitude  might  be  with  regard  to  a  match  between 
his  daughter  and  Nazarov's  nephew.  Upon  receiving  a  ten- 
tatively favorable  reply,  the  suitor's  older  sister,  together 
with  a  woman  neighbor,  came  to  interview  Khoziat's 
mother.  They  brought  the  traditional  bread  and  a  couple 
of  kerchiefs  as  presents. 

On  the  third  day,  the  imaum  and  AH  Nazarov  paid 
Markulanov  another  visit.  Now  the  kalym— the  price- 
had  to  be  discussed.  After  arduous  haggling  on  both  sides, 
it  was  finally  agreed  that  her  father  was  to  receive  two 
rams,  160  pounds  of  rice,  one  cow— to  compensate  for  the 
milk  Khoziat  had  been  fed— two  donkey-loads  of  fuel,  and 
three  quilts.  The  cow  was  never  delivered. 

After  that  Khoziat's  mother  sent  some  more  gifts  to  the 
suitor  whom  neither  she  nor  her  daughter  had  ever  seen. 
Three  weeks  passed  between  the  engagement  and  the  wed- 
ding. On  the  day  of  the  wedding,  people  began  to  crowd 
the  bride's  house  from  early  morning.  Everything  was 
in  a  turmoil.  Elaborate  preparations  were  being  made.  A 
ram  was  slain.  Pilaf  was  being  cooked  in  the  yard.  All 
kinds  of  vegetables  and  fruits  were  being  piled  up— rad- 
ishes, cucumbers,  scallions,  egg-plants,  apricots,  pistachio 
nuts,  and  melons  and  grapes.  During  all  that  time  Khoziat 
sat  in  the  ichkari,  nervous,  worried,  but  also  a  little  glad 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  all  this  hubbub. 

Soon  Khoziat's  mother  came  in  and  said  that  the  mullah 
had  arrived.  She  then  assisted  Khoziat  with  the  paranja, 
and  led  her  close  to  the  door.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
shut  door  the  mullah  began  to  chant  his  prayers.  Then 
he  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  so  Khoziat  might  hear  on 
her  side  of  the  door:  "Khoziat,  do  you  consent  to  take  this 
man  as  your  husband?"  He  repeated  the  question  three 
times.  Khoziat  did  not  know  what  to  say,  until  prompted 
by  her  mother:  "Hai"  (yes). 

After  the  ceremony,  Khoziat's  mother  and  some  other 
women  spread  many  rugs  and  quilts  on  the  floor  of  the 
ichkari.  The  great  moment  was  approaching.  Khoziat  was 


280  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

to  meet  her  husband  for  the  first  time.  While  she  and  her 
friends,  all  in  paranjas,  were  huddled  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  two  young  fellows,  in  bright  turbans,  brought  in  the 
bridegroom.  A  robe  was  thrown  over  his  head.  His  escorts 
helped  him  sit  down  on  the  quilt  and  retired  in  silence. 
Khoziat's  mother,  aunts,  and  neighbors  then  surrounded 
her  and,  leading  her  over  to  the  bridegroom,  seated  her 
next  to  him.  Then  everybody  began  to  withdraw  from  the 
room.  Khoziat's  girl  friends  were  sobbing:  "You  are  leav- 
ing us.  Don't  forget  us!" 

They  sat  near  each  other,  their  faces  covered,  scarcely 
daring  to  move,  petrified  with  fear  and  embarrassment. 
Khoziat  could  hear  the  gurgling  of  the  stream  outside  and 
the  rustling  of  the  poplars.  Her  husband  moved  a  little 
closer  to  her.  She  heard  his  heart  beat.  Finally  he  removed 
her  paranja,  and  uncovered  his  own  face.  Khoziat  did  not 
dare  raise  her  eyes.  After  a  while,  she  glanced  at  him 
furtively.  He  was  pleasing  to  look  at.  She  felt  a  great  glad- 
ness in  her  heart.  Then  their  eyes  met.  He  smiled  at  her 
and  to  reassure  her  he  put  a  cushion  under  his  head  and 
shut  his  eyes.  Khoziat  was  fortunate— he  was  kind  and 
delicate.  She  too  shut  her  eyes.  They  slept  like  brother 
and  sister.  The  oil  lamp  burned  all  night. 

Khoziat  and  Khadza  lived  together  for  about  six  months. 
Then  Khadza  left  for  Tashkent  to  work  on  a  cotton  planta- 
tion. He  died  soon  after.  Khadza's  death  was  a  terrible 
blow  to  Khoziat,  for  she  had  come  to  love  Khadza  and  ap- 
preciate his  gentleness.  She  then  returned  to  her  parents. 

Echoes  of  the  revolution  finally  reached  Khoziat's  vil- 
lage. There  were  rumors  of  fights  and  battles  in  the  sur- 
rounding hills.  Then  a  band  of  counter-revolutionary 
guerillas  appeared.  The  village  was  terrorized.  Markulanov 
and  many  other  workers  were  killed.  It  was  whispered  that 
the  bandits  had  sent  out  agents  to  look  for  pretty  women. 
Khoziat's  uncle  heard  it  in  the  chai-khana  (tea  room)  and 
he  hurried  to  Khoziat's  house  that  night  and  he  brought 
his  daughter  with  him  and  insisted  that  the  girls  must  be 
hidden.  Khoziat  and  her  cousin  dressed  up  like  old  women, 
padded  their  backs  with  heaps  of  cotton,  and,  accom- 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN    TADJIKISTAN 

panied  by  Khoziat's  mother,  they  fled  that  night  to 
Kokand. 

The  refugees  walked  two  days  and  two  nights  before 
they  reached  their  destination.  In  Kokand  they  had  neither 
relatives  nor  acquaintances,  but  it  was  a  big  city  and  they 
felt  safer  there.  Khoziat's  mother  then  decided  to  hide  the 
girls  in  the  household  of  the  famous  local  ishan  Rok- 
haratub,  who  consented  to  take  them  in  as  servants.  Strik- 
ing his  long,  carefully  combed  beard  and  rolling  his  clever 
little  eyes  to  heaven,  the  ishan  said:  "The  flesh  is  ours, 
the  bone  is  yours."  By  which  he  meant  to  say:  "While  they 
live,  they  work  for  me;  if  they  die,  they  belong  to  you." 

The  ishan's  household  was  a  busy  place.  Many  miurids 
(followers  of  an  ishan)  came  to  visit  the  holy  man,  bring- 
ing all  kinds  of  gifts  in  meats,  fruits,  vegetables,  and  so  on. 
Every  night  the  ishan,  surrounded  by  his  miurids,  sat  on 
a  mountain  of  quilts,  ate  fat  pilaf,  and  recited  the  Koran. 
For  him  and  his  fanatical  miurids  every  night  was  a  feast 
night.  But  for  the  women  in  the  household  it  was  endless 
drudgery— cooking,  and  baking,  and  cleaning,  and  washing 
dishes  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night.  The  girls  re- 
ceived no  pay;  they  weren't  even  given  any  clothes.  They 
ate  only  the  left-overs,  and  were  chased  and  hounded  by 
the  ishan's  two  senior  wives.  Every  night  Khoziat  and 
her  cousin  would  shed  furtive  tears  on  their  pillows. 

After  a  few  months,  the  ishan  gave  Khoziat's  pretty 
cousin  to  one  of  his  old  miurids,  Hokim  Saidov,  who  had 
only  one  wife.  The  girl  was  afraid  to  refuse,  though  she 
hated  the  sight  of  Saidov.  A  few  months  later,  Khoziat's 
uncle  came  and  brought  her  regards  from  her  mother. 
His  daughter  whom  he  also  visited  implored  him  to  take 
her  away  from  Saidov.  But  the  uncle  said  it  was  bad  this 
way  and  it  was  bad  the  other  way.  But  he  thought  that 
Saidov  was  the  lesser  of  the  two  evils,  and  he  said  that  he 
couldn't  take  his  daughter  back  before  it  was  all  over  with 
the  Basmach  bandits. 

Vague  rumors  would  sometimes  penetrate  the  walls  of 
the  ichkari;  Khoziat  heard  the  old  women  curse  the  in- 
fidels, the  Russians,  the  "Bolshevois."  One  day  there  was  a 


282  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

great  commotion  in  the  ichkari;  some  one  brought  the 
news  that  he  had  seen  a  whole  group  of  young  Moslem 
women  strutting  brazenly  through  the  street  with  their 
faces  uncovered,  like  shameless  harlots.  The  only  one  who 
did  not  appear  to  be  outraged  was  the  ishan's  youngest 
wife,  a  pale  little  creature  not  much  older  than  Khoziat. 
She,  poor  thing,  had  had  a  sad  life,  with  the  older  women 
always  jealous  of  her,  and  always  picking  on  her,  and 
gossiping  about  her.  She  was  wasting  away  very  fast,  cough- 
ing up  blood  all  the  time.  Maybe  she  was  dreaming  of  a 
happier  life  of  freedom,  when  she  heard  all  those  rumors 
that  came  from  the  outside  world.  That  day  she  became  so 
excited  that  she  coughed  more  than  ever,  and  had  to  be 
put  to  bed.  The  ishan  had  a  consultation  with  a  tabib 
(healer) ,  and  they  decided  that  the  best  cure  in  such 
cases  was  a  broth  made  of  green  frogs,  which  was  to  be 
given  to  the  patient  secretly  for  seven  days  in  succession. 

One  of  the  old  woman  servants  and  Khoziat  were  then 
sent  out  to  catch  frogs.  Taking  a  bag  and  iron  pincers, 
they  went  to  a  distant  pond  in  which  green  frogs  were  said 
to  be  plentiful.  They  had  caught  only  a  couple  of  them; 
so  on  the  following  day  Khoziat  went  out  by  herself  to 
hunt  for  frogs.  As  she  approached  Soviet  Street,  she  saw 
something  extraordinary  happen.  The  street  teemed  with 
people.  Red  banners,  and  streamers,  and  placards  gleamed 
and  fluttered  in  the  hot  sun.  A  throng  of  women,  mostly 
young,  though  there  were  a  few  middle-aged  and  even  old 
ones,  many  with  faces  uncovered,  were  parading  along  the 
street.  There  was  a  brass  band  playing  unfamiliar  music. 
The  young  people  were  singing  strange  songs.  Occasion- 
ally, one  would  hear  the  voices  of  youngsters:  "Down  with 
the  paranja!  Long  live  the  free  women  of  Central  Asia! 
Down  with  the  beys  and  mullahs!  Long  live  the  Soviet 
Government!" 

This  was  new  and  fascinating.  Poor  Khoziat  forgot  all 
about  the  ishan's  pallid  wife  and  the  green  frogs,  and,  in 
a  trance,  followed  the  crowd.  She  watched  the  parading 
girls.  They  looked  so  free  and  gay  and  proud,  and  she 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  283 

longed  to  be  with  them,  to  be  like  them,  to  sing  their 
songs,  to  hold  their  banners. 

Then  the  women  marched  into  a  spacious  courtyard, 
with  many  trees  and  rugs  and  teapots.  The  paraders  ar- 
ranged themselves  in  a  huge  circle.  They  sat  under  the 
shady  trees,  and  drank  kok-choi  (green  tea) ,  and  ate  ap- 
ples, and  listened  to  speeches.  The  girls  called  out  to  the 
women  standing  in  the  throngs  of  onlookers  to  remove 
their  paranjas  and  to  join  in  the  feast.  Khoziat  did  not 
dare  to  remove  her  paranja.  "I  live  with  an  ishan"  she 
thought.  "If  he  ever  learns  about  it,  he'll  kill  me."  But  she 
did  sidle  up  to  the  girls,  and  timidly  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  rug.  The  girl  next  to  her  handed  her  an  apple,  and 
called  her  rafik  (comrade).  Khoziat  was  happy. 

She  listened  to  the  speeches.  Most  of  what  was  said  she 
did  not  understand.  What  she  did  finally  grasp  was  that 
this  was  Woman's  Day,  a  day  to  celebrate  woman's  free- 
dom. And  she  believed  the  speakers,  for  their  eyes  looked 
honest. 

Then  a  middle-aged  woman,  with  ample  bosom  and 
mild  eyes,  got  up  to  speak.  "Ibrahimova,"  whispered  the 
crowd,  "the  director  of  the  Woman's  Department."  She 
spoke  as  a  mother  would  speak  to  her  children,  quietly, 
gently,  simply— so  that  every  one  could  understand.  She 
wasn't  a  smooth  speaker.  She  often  stopped,  and  smiled 
a  little  guiltily,  fumbling  for  the  proper  word.  She  spoke 
of  the  sorrows  of  the  woman's  life.  Of  ignorance,  and  dark- 
ness. Of  how  children  died  by  the  thousands  because  the 
mothers  didn't  know  how  to  take  care  of  them.  She  spoke 
of  the  humiliation  of  wearing  a  paranja. 

When  Ibrahimova  finished,  Khoziat  felt  drawn  to  her, 
like  a  mother.  To  her  she  could  tell  everything,  of  the 
terrible  life  at  the  ishan's  and  of  her  fear  to  go  home.  She 
sought  out  Ibrahimova  in  the  crowd  and  anxiously  touched 
her  arm.  She  said  only  a  few  words  and  the  older  woman 
understood  everything.  "You  have  no  one  in  Kokand? 
You  are  a  widow?  You  live  at  the  ishan1 'sf  Don't  worry,  my 
little  woman,  don't  tremble  so.  We'll  take  you  to  our 


284  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

girls'  dormitory.  We'll  take  care  of  you.  We'll  teach  you; 
we'll  train  you;  we'll  make  something  of  you." 

Khoziat  cried  with  happiness  when  she  entered  the 
girls'  home  on  Karl  Marx  Street.  She  was  taken  into  a  nice, 
clean  bathroom  and  shown  how  to  use  it.  She  was  given 
clean  underwear,  European  clothes,  bed,  quilt— everything. 

On  the  very  next  day,  Khoziat's  teacher  gave  her  the 
first  lesson.  Things  came  easy  to  her.  In  a  couple  of  weeks, 
she  knew  how  to  read  and  write.  She  soon  started  arith- 
metic and  elementary  politgramota  (civics).  The  girls  used 
to  have  long  talks  with  their  teacher.  She  was  a  very  in- 
telligent woman,  and  one  of  the  first  woman  Communists 
in  Central  Asia.  Her  name  was  Makhi  Djamal  Seifut- 
dinova.  She  had  seen  a  great  deal  in  her  life.  She  had  been 
a  woman's  delegate  in  Samarkand  and  in  Tashkent.  And 
she  had  been  a  member  of  the  first  delegation  to  the  First 
Congress  of  Eastern  Women  in  Moscow.  She  often  spoke 
of  the  life  in  the  various  big  cities  she  had  visited,  and  she 
very  often  spoke  of  Lenin.  It  was  through  Seifutdinova's 
conversations  that  the  girls  came  to  know  and  love  Lenin. 
She  described  how  well  they  had  been  received  in  Moscow, 
how  Lenin  and  his  wife,  Krupskaya,  came  to  visit  them. 
On  the  sight  of  Lenin,  one  of  the  Uzbek  women  fell  on 
his  shoulder  and  began  to  cry,  and  she  couldn't  stop  until 
they  gave  her  some  drops.  Then  Lenin  conversed  with  the 
women,  and  told  them  what  the  Soviet  Government  was 
trying  to  do  for  them.  Then  Alexandra  Kollontai  spoke 
to  them.  Then  they  were  taken  to  museums,  and  theaters, 
and  factories.  They  stayed  in  Moscow  twelve  days. 

Khoziat  lived  in  the  dormitory  for  nine  months,  and  was 
very  successful  in  her  studies.  She  got  encouragement  on 
all  sides.  Among  her  teachers  there  was  a  young  man  by 
the  name  of  Feizula.  He  was  also  the  superintendent  of 
the  dormitory.  He  took  a  special  interest  in  Khoziat  and 
helped  her  a  great  deal.  Once  she  had  to  fill  out  a  ques- 
tionnaire; and  in  helping  her  fill  in  the  answers,  Feizula 
learned  much  about  her  former  life. 

"Does  your  mother  know  about  you,  where  you  are?"  he 
asked  Khoziat.  "Don't  you  think  you  are  a  little  unkind 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN    TADJIKISTAN  285 

to  your  mother?  From  what  you  tell  me,  she  is  a  very  good 
and  kind  woman.  Don't  you  think  we  better  notify  her  as 
to  your  whereabouts?" 

Khoziat  felt  ashamed  before  Feizula  for  being  so  callous, 
but  she  said  that  she  was  afraid  her  mother  and  her  uncle 
might  take  her  away  from  the  school,  back  to  the  village. 

Still,  Feizula,  without  consulting  Khoziat,  did  write  a 
letter  to  her  mother.  One  afternoon— she  was  monitor  that 
day— Khoziat  was  busy  cleaning  up  one  of  the  rooms.  Sud- 
denly she  saw  a  veiled  woman,  followed  by  a  little  boy, 
crossing  the  threshold.  "Are  there  no  men  around?"  the 
woman  asked  in  a  low  voice.  "Not  a  soul,  my  good 
woman,"  replied  Khoziat  gayly.  The  woman  uncovered 
her  face.  It  was  Khoziat's  mother!  And  the  little  boy  was 
her  youngest  brother.  For  the  first  few  moments,  both  her 
mother  and  little  brother  were  so  stunned  by  Khoziat's 
European  outfit  and  bobbed  hair  that  they  couldn't  utter 
a  sound.  It  wasn't  Khoziat.  At  any  rate,  it  was  not  their 
Khoziat.  She  was  a  stranger.  She  looked  like  an  infidel. 
And  they  both  burst  into  tears.  It  was  only  after  Khoziat 
rushed  to  them,  and  embraced  them,  and  kissed  them,  and 
made  them  feel  at  home  and  welcome,  that  they  became  a 
little  composed.  Gradually,  they  got  used  to  her  alien  ap- 
pearance. It  was  their  Khoziat,  after  all,  whom  every  one 
in  the  village  thought  dead! 

What  happened  was  this:  After  Khoziat  had  vanished 
from  the  ishan's  house,  she  had  been  searched  for  by  her 
master's  servants  all  over  Kokand.  When  no  traces  could 
be  found  of  her,  the  ishan  called  in  a  fortune-teller  who, 
after  mumbling  all  kinds  of  strange  words  and  pronounc- 
ing many  queer  prayers  and  invocations  while  casting  little 
balls  of  cotton  into  a  bowl  of  water,  finally  solved  the 
mystery.  "The  light  has  gone  out  of  Khoziat,"  she  finally 
muttered.  "A  big  man,  a  kaffir,  a  Bolshevoi  abducted  her 
while  she  was  returning  from  the  pond  carrying  the  green 
frogs.  He  abducted  her,  then  killed  her,  then  threw  her 
into  the  water." 

Khoziat  laughed  at  her  mother  and  her  fears,  and  called 
the  mullah  an  old  fool,  and  told  her  mother  very  definitely 


2  86  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

that  she  had  not  the  least  intention  of  going  back  to  the 
village.  Her  mother  was  hurt,  and  Khoziat  had  to  explain. 
She  talked  to  her,  and  tried  to  convert  her  to  a  more  mod- 
ern point  of  view.  She  told  her  of  Ibrahimova  and  Seifutdi- 
nova.  She  tried  to  explain  to  her  the  disgrace  of  wearing 
a  paranja.  She  presented  to  her  all  the  arguments  that  she 
had  learned  in  favor  of  woman's  emancipation.  But  the 
mother  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  told  Khoziat  that  she 
wasn't  convinced,  that  the  Tadjiks  had  lived  that  way  for 
centuries,  and  that  she  saw  no  good  in  breaking  up  every- 
thing, in  destroying  everything.  "I  can't  go  back  to  the  vil- 
lage without  you,"  she  kept  on  saying.  "Ah,  Khoziat, 
Khoziat,  what  have  you  done  to  me  and  our  family?  You 
have  disgraced  us  in  the  eyes  of  every  good  Moslem.  Every- 
body will  be  pointing  at  me.  I  won't  be  able  to  look  any- 
body straight  in  the  eyes.  If,  Allah  beware,  I  am  in  trou- 
ble, no  one  will  help  me.  Ah,  Khoziat,  Khoziat. .  . ."  Still, 
her  resistance  was  a  little  broken.  There  was  even  a 
glimmer  of  pride  in  her  eyes  when  Khoziat  displayed  her 
ability  to  read  and  write  and  make  long  additions  and 
subtractions. 

Later,  the  girls  came  in,  and  Feizula,  and  Seifutdinova, 
and  were  all  very  courteous  and  gentle  with  the  mother. 
As  to  her,  while  she  never  said  a  thing  to  Khoziat,  seeing 
all  those  nice  people  with  whom  her  daughter  was  asso- 
ciated made  her  feel  a  little  reassured. 

When  she  was  bidding  farewell  to  Khoziat,  she  said, 
"Ah,  my  little  daughter,  if  you  only  knew  how  I'm  afraid 
to  face  our  relatives  and  neighbors.  I  have  learned  much 
while  I  have  stayed  with  you  here,  and  I  have  thought 
thai  perhaps  you  young  people  are  right  after  all.  I  don't 
know.  But  I  am  an  old  woman,  Khoziat,  and  I  am  sorry 
I  wasn't  dead  before  all  these  new  things  have  come  to 
destroy  the  old  life." 

That  was  the  last  Khoziat  saw  of  her  mother.  The  old 
woman  died  soon  afterward— a  good,  devoted,  silent  and 
obedient  Moslem  woman.  Soon  afterward  Khoziat  mar- 
ried. Her  husband,  who  was  a  member  of  the  Young  Com- 
munist League,  was  transferred  from  Kokand  to  Tashkent, 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM   IN   TADJIKISTAN  287 

to  study  in  the  University.  Khoziat  went  with  him,  to 
study  in  the  Workers'  Faculty.  Here  an  altogether  new 
life  began  for  her.  From  now  on  her  life  became  bound 
up  with  the  Revolution. 


Tact  and  Revolution 

Long  before  Khoziat  came  to  Tashkent,  the  Communist 
Party  there  had  done  a  huge  amount  of  work  with  the 
native  women.  The  nature  of  this  work  is  best  given  in 
the  following  statement  of  F.  Marchenko,  one  of  the  lead- 
ers of  the  Woman's  Department  in  Tashkent: 

Our  Department  was  organized  on  November  12,  1919, 
when  the  Regional  Committee  of  the  Communist  Party 
adopted  a  resolution  calling  for  the  formation  of  special 
women's  departments  in  all  the  Party  committees  in  Cen- 
tral Asia.  The  purpose  of  these  departments  was  prelim- 
inary education,  agitation,  and  organization  among  the 
native  women.  However,  the  work  at  first  moved  along 
rather  slowly. 

The  European,  the  Russian,  women,  the  working 
women  and  the  wives  of  working  men  in  Tashkent  did 
begin  to  stir,  to  show  signs  of  life— now  a  meeting,  now  a 
lecture,  here  and  there  a  political  circle.  But  the  native 
Uzbek  and  Tadjik  women  were  neither  seen  nor  heard. 

Many  a  time  Dvorkina  and  myself,  seeing  how  well  the 
work  was  progressing  in  the  new,  the  European,  section  of 
the  city,  among  the  Russians,  would  say  to  ourselves: 
"This  is  not  the  main  thing,  the  old  city  is  still  un- 
touched." 

The  trouble  was,  we  did  not  know  the  language.  An- 
other trouble,  there  were  no  Moslem  women  in  the  ranks 
of  our  Party.  And  it  was  only  later  that  Dvorkina  fortu- 
nately happened  to  come  across  Usupova,  a  Tartar  woman. 
The  latter  had  had  a  lot  of  trouble  in  her  married  life, 
and  spoke  bitterly  of  the  lot  of  the  Eastern  women.  She 
seemed  to  us  very  promising,  but  we  did  not  know  at  the 
beginning  where  to  use  her.  She  explained  to  us  the  local 


2 88  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

customs,  the  traditions;  she  also  served  as  our  tongue.  We 
then  decided  to  try  first  to  draw  in  the  Moslem  women  of 
the  intelligentsia.  We  called  two  meetings.  Quite  a  num- 
ber came,  but  they  all  seemed  to  be  half  asleep.  We  made 
efforts  to  have  elections  for  a  special  Moslem  Women's 
Bureau,  also  to  elect  some  for  forming  contacts  with  other 
Moslem  women.  But  as  soon  as  the  meeting  was  adjourned, 
there  was  no  bureau,  and  no  one  who  was  willing  to  do 
the  necessary  work.  This  was  quite  natural,  since  the  crowd 
was  rather  well-to-do,  without  a  touch  of  social  conscious- 
ness, and  certainly  without  any  disposition  to  take  part  in 
great  events. 

All  other  pother  came  to  nothing.  We  succeeded  only  in 
getting  hold  of  a  few  Moslem,  chiefly  Tartar,  women— 
Khusanbaieva,  Fatikha,  Redkina,  Karimova,  etc. 

We  failed  badly  with  the  intelligentsia.  We  therefore 
decided  to  begin  from  the  other  end,  to  begin  with  the 
poorest  class. 

Even  before  we  arrived  at  Tashkent,  there  had  been  in 
the  old  city  artels  of  women  weavers.  Usually,  these  women 
weavers  were  given  the  cheapest  sort  of  cotton  to  work  on. 
The  wages  were  not  paid  regularly.  And  the  prices  they 
received  were  very  low.  Of  course  it  might  be  better  to 
sell  their  products  at  the  bazaar;  but,  first,  this  was  even 
less  certain;  and,  second,  one  needed  funds  for  the  initial 
investment  in  cotton,  spindles,  etc.  And  so,  these  Moslem 
women,  meek,  ragged,  would  come,  hand  in  their  week's 
work,  receive  their  miserable  few  kopecks,  and  uncom- 
plainingly go  home  to  starve  some  more.  Many  of  these 
women  had  whole  families  to  support.  Either  the  husband 
was  sick,  or  there  was  no  husband  at  all.  Such  women, 
heads  of  families,  are  more  independent,  and  tend  to 
become  more  emancipated  than  the  helpless  women  of 
the  intelligentsia. 

It  was  with  this  material  that  we  began  our  work.  We 
entered  into  an  agreement  with  the  Department  of  Home 
Crafts.  We  sent  our  representative  to  watch  that  our 
women  got  better  cotton  to  work  with;  we  won  a  higher 
price  for  the  piece  workers,  etc. 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  289 

We  then  called  a  meeting  of  the  women  working  in  the 
artels.  There  was  no  trouble  to  get  them  to  come.  The 
place  was  like  a  bee-hive.  Noise.  Complaints.  In  the  new 
city,  milk  is  handed  out  for  babies  free  of  charge.  No  such 
thing  in  the  old  city.  In  the  new  city,  a  new-born  babe  gets 
some  clothes.  No  such  thing  in  the  old  city.  In  the  new 
city,  they  occasionally  get  a  ration.  No  such  thing  in  the 
old  city.  And  so  it  was  from  the  material  side  that  we 
approached  the  native  woman,  and  she,  of  course,  gladly 
responded. 

But  what  to  do  with  the  traditions  that  pressed  like  a 
yoke  on  the  Moslem  woman?  We  had  to  grope  along.  On 
the  one  hand  we  were  advised  not  to  wake  the  native 
woman,  for  it  might  complicate  the  political  situation; 
on  the  other,  we  were  being  urged  by  some  bold  souls  to 
proclaim  the  slogan,  "Down  with  the  paranja!"  Such 
"Down-with"  radicals  were  unhesitatingly  sat  upon;  age- 
old  traditions  cannot  be  knocked  out  by  a  straight-from- 
the-shoulder  blow.  Let,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  Moslem 
woman  wear  her  paranja— that  is  nothing.  What  we  have 
to  do  is  to  help  her  economically,  to  put  her  on  her  feet, 
to  give  her  a  chance  to  earn  a  livelihood.  And  perhaps  she 
will  herself  begin  to  do  things.  To  raise  the  economic  and 
cultural  level  of  the  native  woman,  to  help  the  Soviet  gov- 
ernment to  find  a  way  of  doing  it— these  were  the  first 
steps.  And  here  Dvorkina  did  everything  possible.  Not 
even  one  of  the  native  women  with  whom  we  worked  re- 
moved her  paranja;  though  many  of  them  were  at  con- 
gresses and  in  Soviets,  both  as  members  and  delegates. 

It  was  in  this  careful  manner  that,  together  with  our 
work  in  the  artels,  we  began  to  do  a  little  cultural  work- 
little  plays  and  concerts  preceded  by  meetings.  We  began 
to  take  our  Moslem  women  to  the  new  city— to  the  Luna- 
charsky  House.  These  affairs  attracted  not  only  the  poor 
women  we  had  drawn  into  our  ranks.  Funny  things  would 
happen  occasionally.  Imagine  a  concert-meeting  in  the 
Lunacharsky  House.  The  speakers  and  the  performers  are 
in  the  back  of  the  stage  awaiting  their  turn.  At  the 
door  stands  our  guard.  Men  are  not  admitted.  While  all 


2QO  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

around  the  house  there  are  the  Moslem  husbands,  watch- 
ing whether  it  is  really  true  that  only  women  are  allowed 
to  the  concert.  And  the  women  in  the  hall  feel  perfectly 
at  home.  Some  are  listening  in  a  reclined  position;  some 
help  the  performer  with  her  song.  The  kids,  too,  are  here. 
Altogether,  the  thing  is  quite  informal  and  gay.  To  these 
affairs  we  succeeded  in  attracting  wives  of  most  jealous 
and  conservative  husbands. 

I  recall  only  once  that  an  unpleasant  incident  took  place. 
A  few  Hindu  comrades  who  were  on  their  way  to  Moscow, 
to  the  Comintern,  expressed  a  desire  to  bring  their  greet- 
ings from  revolutionary  India  to  the  new  comrades— the 
Moslem  women  of  Central  Asia.  We  should  have  warned 
the  women  to  pull  down  their  paranjas  before  we  brought 
in  the  guests.  But  our  guard  failed  us.  The  tall,  graceful, 
handsome  Hindus,  about  thirteen  of  them,  solemnly, 
slowly,  one  after  another  marched  into  the  hall  just  as  the 
women  were  at  the  height  of  informality.  A  cry  of  horror 
pierced  the  hall.  The  women  dashed  for  safety.  Many  lit- 
erally fell  to  the  floor  in  an  attempt  to  hide  their  faces. 
The  thoroughly  embarrassed  and  nonplussed  guests  were 
made  to  occupy  the  first  rows  and  were  instructed  not  to 
turn  their  heads.  They  must  have  felt  terribly  foolish  to 
sit  motionless  for  such  a  long  time.  They  begged  to  be 
excused.  Of  course,  their  greeting  to  the  audience  of 
"coffins  with  black  lids"  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  its  fervor. 

Stories  about  our  parties,  our  appeals,  and  explanations 
spread  throughout  the  city,  and  penetrated  far  into  rural 
districts.  More  and  more  women  began  to  come  to  our 
Department— now  it  was  a  woman  beaten  by  her  husband, 
now  it  was  a  youngster  forced  into  marriage.  Weeping, 
at  times  bleeding,  came  old  women,  middle-aged  mothers, 
little  girls;  often  on  their  knees,  grasping  at  our  skirts, 
seizing  our  hands,  imploring  for  help.  Willy-nilly  we  had 
to  meddle  in  the  intimate  lives  of  these  people.  We  tried 
to  be  cautious,  tactful,  not  to  arouse  any  resentment.  Not 
infrequently,  we  had  couples  come.  The  husband,  serious, 
morose,  in  one  corner  of  the  office,  the  wife,  sobbing,  in 
another;  both  demanding  justice.  We  began  to  appear 


BUILDING  SOCIALISM  IN  TADJIKISTAN  2Q1 

before  the  native  judges,  the  casii,  trying  to  combat  their 
casuistry  and  their  antiquated  laws.  And,  I  repeat,  we 
never  got  into  serious  trouble  with  the  native  men. 

The  work  of  our  Department  was  growing,  its  influence 
spreading.  Between  the  years  1919  and  1922  scores  of  con- 
ferences and  congresses  were  held.  In  1920,  the  first  trip 
of  Central  Asian  women  to  Moscow  took  place. 

This  news  caused  a  considerable  sensation  among  the 
natives.  Our  message  of  woman's  emancipation  was  pene- 
trating to  the  villages.  Women's  clubs  and  schools  were 
beginning  to  be  opened  in  various  sections  of  the  country. 
The  Central  Executive  Committee  of  Turkestan  now  felt 
the  time  ripe  for  making  polygamy,  forced  marriages,  and 
marriages  of  minors  criminal  offenses.  Our  labor  was  bear- 
ing fruit. 


Husbands  and  Schools 

To  return  to  Khoziat  and  Feizula.  Tashkent,  where  the 
newlyweds  went  to  live,  was  the  center  of  European  cul- 
ture in  Central  Asia.  It  had  a  big  European  population 
(in  the  new  city)  with  several  modern  educational  institu- 
tions. It  had  a  large  and  strongly  organized  working  class, 
mainly  Russian  railway  workers.  As  the  capital  of  Tur- 
kestan, it  was  the  first  city  in  this  part  of  the  world  to 
establish  the  Soviet  regime,  and  was  now  the  general  head- 
quarters of  the  Communist  Party  in  Central  Asia.  From 
Tashkent  as  a  center,  the  Bolsheviki  had  sent  the  Soviet 
Armies  to  wage  their  victorious  battles  against  the  counter- 
revolutionary government  of  Kokand  and  against  the 
tyrannical  government  of  the  Bokhara  Emir.  When  Kho- 
ziat came  there  in  1922,  Tashkent  was  already  in  posses- 
sion of  a  rich  revolutionary  tradition:  the  proper  atmos- 
phere for  an  eager  convert.  What  was  most  important  as 
far  as  Khoziat's  personal  development  was  concerned  was 
the  fact  that  Tashkent  was  at  the  heart  of  the  woman's 
movement  in  Central  Asia.  However,  just  when  she  came 
to  Tashkent  and  was  drawn  into  the  work,  the  Woman's 


292  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

Department  was  in  a  rather  bad  way.  The  main  reason 
was,  of  course,  the  institution  of  the  New  Economic  Policy. 
As  a  result  of  the  Nep,  the  Woman's  Department  had  to 
make  fundamental  readjustments  in  its  method  of  work. 
Previously,  students  were  being  paid  during  their  part- 
time  apprenticeship  in  the  schools,  offices,  and  factories. 
The  Nep,  by  abolishing  this  privilege,  made  the  task  of 
attracting  Uzbek  and  Tadjik  women  students  much  more 
difficult.  Then,  again,  with  the  establishment  of  the  Nep, 
the  state  ceased  to  subsidize  the  artels.  And  without  this 
support,  the  rather  weak  and  inefficient  women's  artels, 
where  the  efforts  of  the  Woman's  Department  were  mainly 
concentrated,  began  to  disintegrate. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  the  Party  was  gaining  in  members 
and  power,  its  attack  on  the  old  grew  bolder  and  more 
determined.  And  one  must  bear  in  mind  that  not  every- 
where were  the  representatives  of  the  Woman's  Depart- 
ment as  diplomatic  and  tactful  as  were  Marchenko  and 
Dvorkina.  In  many  places  the  enthusiasts  were  forcing  the 
issue,  removing  the  paranjas,  and  losing  their  heads  in  the 
process.  This  naturally  brought  a  sharp  reaction.  Resist- 
ance, at  first  passive  and  peaceful,  began  to  assume  more 
ominous  forms.  In  Auliae-Ata,  where  Khoziat  had  been 
commandeered  in  1924  to  organize  a  woman's  department, 
the  mullahs  lodged  the  following  complaint  against  her 
before  the  Revolutionary  Committee:  "A  certain  woman 
in  a  red  dress  and  a  little  cap  seduces  and  corrupts  our 
wives.  We  know  that  this  is  not  a  woman,  but  a  man  in 
disguise.  We  request  that  he  be  arrested  in  conformity 
with  the  laws  of  the  sheriat.  If  this  is  not  done,  we'll  take 
the  law  into  our  own  hands."  To  forestall  violence,  the 
Committee  had  to  make  a  pretense  at  arresting  Khoziat. 
She  was  then  urged  by  the  authorities  to  stop  all  propa- 
ganda which  might  result  in  serious  trouble. 

Hers  was  not  by  any  means  a  unique  case.  Tadjik  and 
Uzbek  Communists  were  seized,  beaten  and  forced  to 
swear  that  they  would  make  their  wives  wear  the  paranja; 
they  were  summoned  to  the  mosque  and  were  made  to 
renounce  their  struggles  against  religion  and  custom.  They 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  293 

and  their  kin  were  threatened  with  arson,  ruin,  ostracism. 
The  fighters  for  the  new  life  were  being  driven  out  of 
their  homes  and  out  of  settlements.  Parents  of  married 
women  were  taking  them  away  from  their  Bolshevik  hus- 
bands. Violence  and  terror  spread  throughout  the  land. 
Women  who  wished  to  study,  who  removed  their  paranjas, 
were  beaten,  raped,  murdered.  Whole  villages  rose  in  bru- 
tal frenzy  against  them.  Even  as  late  as  the  years  1927  and 
1928,  on  the  eve  of  Woman's  Day,  on  the  seventh  of 
March,  several  score  of  unveiled  women  were  slain.  From 
March  to  November,  1928,  250  unveiled  women  were 
slain  in  Uzbekistan  alone. 

Such  cases  can  be  recounted  by  the  hundreds.  The 
point  is  that  the  embattled  forces  of  reaction  were  putting 
up  a  stiff  fight.  To  carry  on  its  work  at  all,  the  Woman's 
Department  had  to  compromise  a  great  deal.  It  is  no  exag- 
geration to  say  that  the  Soviet  decrees  of  1921  pertaining 
to  marital  relations  were  in  many  places  simply  not  being 
enforced.  It  would  have  been  suicidal  to  try  to  enforce 
them.  In  domestic  relations  cases  the  administration  of 
justice  was  still  largely  in  the  hands  of  the  beys  and  casii. 
The  Communists  had  to  be  extremely  cautious.  They  had 
to  neutralize  the  provocative  propaganda  of  the  beys  and 
the  mullahs. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  Department  had  suspended 
its  work.  By  the  end  of  the  fifth  year,  35  per  cent  of  the 
best  workers  of  the  Department  were  Uzbek  and  Tadjik 
women.  The  Department  was  winning  the  sympathies  and 
often  the  cooperation  of  the  poorest  sections  of  the  popu- 
lation. There  were  many  amusing  and  curious  cases.  One 
afternoon  a  middle-aged  Kirghiz  peasant  shambled  into 
Khoziat's  office  and  submitted  a  carefully  written  request. 
The  request  read  something  like  this: 

"I,  being  a  poor  peasant,  have  not  the  means  to  pay 
kalym  and  get  a  wife.  I,  therefore,  apply  for  your  coopera- 
tion in  that  if  you  have  some  unmarried  Kirghiz  woman 
or  one  that  has  run  away  from  her  husband,  I  should  be 
glad  to  marry  her." 

Khoziat  had  much  trouble  trying  to  get  into  his  head 


294  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

that  the  Woman's  Department  was  not  engaged  in  supply- 
ing wives,  arranging  marriages,  and  that  it  did  not  keep 
in  reserve  a  stock  of  old  maids  and  runaway  wives.  He 
left  the  office  terribly  disappointed. 

Invariably,  male  support  of  the  work  of  Khoziat's  de- 
partment came  from  the  poorest  workers  and  peasants  who 
could  not  afford  to  pay  kalym,  and  who  were  therefore  in 
favor  of  abolishing  it.  These  people,  too,  were  naturally 
in  favor  of  doing  away  with  polygamy.  First,  being  poor, 
they  had  no  hope  of  ever  having  more  than  one  wife, 
however  desirable  that  might  be.  Second,  they  realized 
that  with  the  disappearance  of  polygamy,  many  more 
women  would  be  available  for  the  poor  bachelors. 

The  usefulness  of  the  legal  division  of  the  Woman's 
Department  has  been  attested  to  by  countless  men  and 
women  of  the  poorer  classes  who  came  in  contact  with  it. 
It  had  pushed  through  the  Commission  of  Justice  a  statute 
granting  a  variety  of  privileges  to  women  who  had  had 
occasion  to  resort  to  the  courts.  For  instance,  on  the 
Department's  recommendation,  domestic  relations  cases 
involving  property  were  given  first  place  on  the  court 
calendars.  The  state  provided  the  women  with  legal  coun- 
sel free  of  charge. 

But  legal  aid  and  promulgating  and  popularizing  laws 
that  tended  to  emancipate  the  native  women  constituted 
only  one  phase  of  Khoziat's  work.  Of  no  small  moment 
was  her  work  in  placing  the  Uzbek,  Tadjik,  Turcoman, 
and  Kirghiz  women  into  the  Soviet  apparatus,  in  working 
for  their  election  into  local  or  district  Soviets  and  execu- 
tive committees,  in  getting  them  jobs  in  the  various  indus- 
trial, commercial,  and  educational  organs  of  the  State,  in 
drawing  them  into  the  Party,  the  Young  Communist 
League,  the  Pioneer  organization,  in  stimulating  their 
active  interest  in  the  cooperative  movement,  in  luring 
them  into  the  Department's  various  voluntary  social  wel- 
fare and  national  defense  groups.  With  the  other  officers 
in  the  Department,  Khoziat  supervised  the  conditions  un- 
der which  the  women  worked,  tried  to  take  care  of  the 
unemployed  women,  and  cooperated  with  the  unemploy- 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  295 

ment  bureaus  in  placing  them  in  jobs.  Mainly,  however, 
Khoziat's  attention  was  focused  on  the  cultural  and  edu- 
cational fronts— schools,  clubs,  nurseries,  hygiene,  etc. 

That  was  what  the  Woman's  Department  did  for 
Khoziat.  Precisely  the  same  thing  was  being  done  for 
thousands  of  women  throughout  Central  Asia.  From  the 
very  outset,  the  Department  began  to  agitate  for  women's 
schools,  an  idea  unheard  of  in  the  old  days!  Why  should 
a  girl  be  taught  to  read  and  write,  when  even  the  male 
population  was  95  per  cent  illiterate,  the  remaining  5  per 
cent  comprising  chiefly  the  clericals  and  their  children! 

A  fair  idea  of  the  type  of  girl  student  the  Department 
attracted,  may  be  obtained  from  some  of  the  cases  told  by 
Khoziat.  First,  the  case  of  Zeinof  Kariheva.  When  she  was 
seven  years  old,  Zeinof  had  been  sold  by  her  brother  to  a 
rich  old  bey.  The  transaction  had  taken  place  during  the 
famine  in  Fergana,  and  the  price  the  brother  received  was 
18  poods  of  moto  and  a  cow.  Zeinof 's  life  with  the  old 
bey  was  perpetual  misery.  Abused  by  her  husband,  per- 
secuted by  the  two  senior  wives  and  their  grown-up  chil- 
dren, the  little  girl  behaved  like  a  wildcat.  Once,  when 
particularly  infuriated,  she  jumped  at  the  husband's 
youngest  son,  Akhmed,  and  buried  her  nails  in  his  face. 
The  spoiled  youngster  let  out  one  piercing,  savage  yell. 
The  old  bey  then  decided  to  teach  Zeinof  a  lesson.  He 
beat  her  so  long  and  so  methodically,  that  the  child-wife 
lay  unconscious  for  days.  When  she  came  to,  Zeinof  ran 
away  from  the  house.  She  hid  in  the  orchard  for  three 
days,  until,  driven  by  hunger,  she  made  her  way  into  the 
village.  By  sheer  luck  she  ran  into  a  group  of  Young  Com- 
munists who  listened  to  her  story,  collected  some  money 
among  themselves,  and  sent  her  on  to  Khoziat's  depart- 
ment. Khoziat  had  never  seen  anything  quite  so  pitiful  as 
this  child  when  she  was  brought  into  the  office.  Blood- 
stained, bruised,  shabby,  trembling  with  anxiety  and  fear, 
she  kept  on  crying:  "I  won't  go  back  to  my  husband;  his 
children  beat  me;  my  husband  beats  me  when  I  don't 
look  happy I  won't  go  away  from  here."  This  was  in 


296  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

1924.  Zeinof  is  now  in  her  third  year  at  the  Tashkent 
University. 

There  was  Abdunabaiva,  who  placed  her  children  in 
nurseries  and  came  to  study.  There  was  Kirghizbaiva,  who 
had  been  given  into  marriage  at  the  age  of  14,  but  who  had 
left  her  husband  and  came  to  the  school.  Kirghizbaiva 
had  been  sold  in  1923  to  an  old  husband.  The  first  time 
she  escaped,  she  was  caught,  beaten  by  her  husband  and 
his  kin  and  severely  wounded  with  a  knife.  After  she  re- 
covered, she  escaped  a  second  time  and  came  to  Khoziat 
begging  to  be  allowed  to  study.  Mukhamed  Alieva  Kho- 
irakhan  had  escaped  from  her  husband  who  attempted 
to  kill  her,  inflicting  on  her  twelve  heavy  wounds  with  his 
pocket  knife.  She  was  still  bleeding  when  she  stumbled 
into  Khoziat's  office  and  collapsed.  Alieva  is  now  a  member 
of  the  Party,  and  is  being  trained  in  the  Party  school  for 
the  job  of  Communist  organizer. 

Another  important  phase  of  the  cultural  work  of 
Khoziat's  Department  was  the  opening  of  women's  clubs; 
the  main  purpose  being  to  draw  the  woman  out  of  her 
seclusion.  When  Khoziat  came  to  Tashkent,  the  first 
woman's  club  in  Central  Asia  had  already  been  organized 
there.  It  started  with  only  fifteen  Uzbek  women.  Within 
a  couple  of  years  the  club  boasted  a  membership  of  426. 
It  grew  by  leaps  and  bounds.  Branches  were  opened 
throughout  the  cities  and  the  villages.  There  are  scores 
of  such  clubs  now.  Men  are  not  allowed  to  enter  the  club 
rooms.  This  makes  it  easier  to  get  the  women  in.  At  the 
beginning  the  women  shunned  the  clubs,  for  fear  that 
they  might  be  forced  to  remove  their  paranjas.  In  its 
Aib  propaganda,  therefore,  Khoziat's  Department  always 
stressed  the  point  that  membership  was  not  contingent 
on  unveiling.  To  make  sure  that  the  women  would  be 
tempted  to  come  to  the  clubs,  practical  inducements  were 
offered.  For  instance,  the  Tashkent  club  organized  under 
its  auspices  a  sewing  artel  which  gave  employment  to  a 
considerable  number  of  women  members.  It  established  a 
medical  service.  Women  members  as  well  as  non-members 
are  encouraged  to  come  and  consult  the  Department's 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  207 

physicians.  The  women  are  taught  how  to  take  care  of 
their  infants.  By  means  of  talks,  exhibits,  posters,  etc., 
they  are  introduced  to  the  elementary  principles  of  hy- 
giene. They  are  given  medicine  free  of  charge.  Now  it  is 
interesting  to  note  that,  while  going  to  the  club  does  not 
require  unveiling,  unveiling  is  the  inevitable  consequence 
of  frequent  visits  to  the  club. 

Owing  to  the  agitation  and  pressure  of  the  Woman's 
Department,  Tashkent  had  in  1924  sixteen  specialized 
medical  schools:  a  school  for  trained  midwives,  another 
school  for  trained  nurses,  a  school  for  doctor's  assistants,  a 
school  for  teaching  hygiene,  for  dental  hygienists,  a  phar- 
macy school,  etc.  While  at  the  beginning  the  majority  of 
students  in  these  schools  were  Russians,  the  number  of 
native  women  has  grown  enormously.  The  services  these 
schools  are  rendering  are  of  incalculable  value. 


A  Transition  Generation 

It  was  midnight,  but  Khoziat  was  not  even  half -through 
with  her  story.  By  that  time,  most  of  us  were  too  tired  to 
ask  questions,  and  one  of  the  group  even  began  to  snore- 
true,  quite  unobtrusively  and  delicately,  with  sudden  little 
starts,  and  brief  pauses,  but  sufficiently  pointedly  to  make 
Khoziat  a  bit  self-conscious. 

"I  had  intended  to  tell  you  of  my  work  in  Tashkent;  it 
turned  out,  however,  that  I  have  told  little  about  myself 
and  a  whole  lot  about  the  Woman's  Department,"  she 
said  apologetically.  "This  can  be  explained  by  two  equally 
important  reasons.  The  first  is— I  am  a  Communist;  and 
this  means  that  like  all  Communists,  I  mean  real  Com- 
munists, I  am  so  absorbed  in  my  work  and  so  completely 
identified  with  it  that  when  I  speak  of  my  work  I  actually 
speak  of  myself.  My  individual  life,  my  personal  emotions, 
and  struggles,  and  sufferings  are  relatively  of  little  im- 
portance and  probably  of  less  interest.  So  this  is  one 
reason.  The  other  is  that  my  recent  personal  life  has  been 
a  rather  painful  one,  and  I  naturally  am  reluctant  to 


208  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

dwell  on  it.  Still,  since  it  throws  some  light  on  the  psy- 
chological difficulties  we  emancipated  women  are  meet- 
ing on  our  path,  I  will  tell  you  a  bit  about  it.  You  will 
recall  I  was  a  young,  pretty,  innocent,  and  eager  creature 
when  I  came  with  Feizula  to  Tashkent.  I  had  married 
Feizula,  not  because  I  was  attracted  to  him,  but  because 
he  was  kind  to  me  and  my  mother,  and  also  because  mar- 
rying him  meant  remaining  in  Kokand,  meant  continuing 
my  studies,  meant  freedom.  When  we  came  to  Tashkent, 
Feizula  entered  the  University,  while  I  divided  my  time 
between  the  Workers'  Faculty  and  the  Woman's  Depart- 
ment. I  jumped  into  the  hurly-burly  of  Tashkent  life, 
meeting  all  kinds  of  men,  working  together  or  under  the 
leadership  of  some  of  the  most  devoted  and  brilliant  com- 
rades in  our  Party. 

"How  did  the  comrades  behave  toward  me? 

"Before  I  answer  this,  let  me  give  you  the  psychological 
setting,  which,  incidentally,  I  failed  to  understand  at  the 
beginning,  a  failure  which  has  cost  me  no  end  of  needless 
pain  and  suffering.  Take  first  our  men.  The  ancient 
Moslem  attitude  toward  woman,  the  feeling  instilled  in 
every  one  since  childhood  that  a  woman  who  uncovers 
her  face  in  the  presence  of  strange  men  is  a  harlot,  has 
so  conditioned  man's  psychology  in  Central  Asia  as  to 
make  it  impossible  for  him  to  react  to  an  unveiled  native 
woman  in  a  manner  that  you  Europeans  would  consider 
normal.  This  is  true  of  all  our  men.  Even  our  best,  most 
sincere,  intellectually  most  emancipated,  and  principled 
Communists  reveal  occasionally  this  psychological  aber- 
ration. Even  they  betray  at  times  the  inability  to  suppress 
a  reaction  which  in  its  immediacy  is  tantamount  to  a  con- 
ditioned reflex;  even  they,  although  unconsciously,  tend 
to  assume  that  peculiar  freedom  of  manner  which  men 
allow  themselves  in  the  presence  of  women  of  'question- 
able character.'  As  a  result  we  have  a  vicious  psychological 
circle.  It  is  generally  the  adventurous,  daring,  and  natu- 
rally enough,  rather  good-looking  woman  who  flings  aside 
her  paranja.  As  a  reaction  to  her  previous  enforced  meek- 
ness, she  now  tends  to  become  more  self-assertive  and 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  299 

unrestrained  than  is  good  for  her.  In  her  relations  with 
the  opposite  sex  she  is  helpless.  Not  having  been  trained 
since  childhood  to  meet  men,  she  has  not  built  up  the 
particular  defenses  which  a  woman  needs  if  she  is  to  meet 
men  freely,  on  an  equal  basis.  In  her  work  she  mingles 
among  men  without  being  emotionally  prepared  to  ward 
off  their  equivocal  remarks  and  persistent  advances.  When- 
ever she  is  in  a  mixed  group,  the  atmosphere  becomes 
charged— passion,  jealousy,  fear— much  more  so  than  you 
probably  find  among  European  men  and  women.  The 
woman  here  needs  a  good  deal  of  discipline  and  balance, 
particularly  when  her  habitual  defenses  have  been  sur- 
rendered and  no  new  ones  have  as  yet  been  erected. 

"In  my  own  case  this  resulted  in  tragedy.  Meeting  men 
was  to  me  a  novel  and  thrilling  experience.  A  compliment 
or  an  embrace  was  a  grand  experience.  I  lost  my  head. 
Being  a  good  Communist,  Feizula  tried  to  overlook  it. 
But  after  all,  he  was  a  Central  Asian.  For  him  to  let  his 
wife  go  out  unveiled  was  a  tremendous  step  forward.  It 
was  absurd  to  expect  of  him  the  tolerance  which  I  now 
know  is  rare  even  among  European  men.  He  suffered 
terribly.  He  made  jealous  scenes.  He  even  struck  me  on 
several  occasions.  He  would  then  cry,  and  beg  me  not  to 
bring  it  up  before  the  Party  nucleus.  We  argued,  and 
discussed,  and  quarreled.  Both  young  and  inexperienced, 
this  new  freedom  was  too  much  for  us.  Later,  when  I 
began  to  understand  the  true  nature  of  most  of  the  com- 
pliments and  the  advances,  I  suffered  doubly.  I  used  to 
be  hurt  and  insulted.  Are  these  comrades?  Are  these  Com- 
munists? I  began  to  lose  respect,  I  began  to  detest  some 
of  the  best  and  most  heroic  fighters  in  our  ranks.  'They 
are  no  better  than  the  Basmachi,'  I  often  thought  in  my 
disgust.  'They  are  worse,  because  they  have  pretensions.' 
In  the  meanwhile,  Feizula  and  I  were  becoming  more  and 
more  estranged.  You  see,  we  were  the  victims  of  a  transi- 
tion period.  In  the  tortures  of  our  souls,  in  the  fires  of  our 
passions  a  new  morality  was  beginning  to  be  molded.  The 
process  is  not  over  yet.  Very  many  are  still  doomed  to  burn 
their  wings  in  their  heedless  dash  for  freedom.  However, 


gOO  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

these  new  ones  have  people  like  me  and  Feizula,  people 
who  have  gone  through  the  fire,  to  turn  to  for  guidance 
and  consolation. 

"Often  the  first  woman  in  a  village  to  unveil  deter- 
mines the  whole  course  of  woman's  emancipation  in  that 
locality.  If  she  is  too  weak,  she  compromises  the  whole 
idea  of  unveiling.  For  in  the  eyes  of  the  village,  she  is  a 
loose  woman,  a  slut.  She  compromises,  not  only  the  idea 
of  woman's  emancipation,  but  also  every  other  social  or 
economic  or  educational  reform  sponsored  by  the  Com- 
munists. She  plays  into  the  hands  of  the  counter-revolu- 
tionary elements  who  generalize  her  individual  failing 
into  an  inevitable  consequence  of  yielding  to  Bolshevik 
influence.  'The  Bolsheviki  are  turning  our  women  into 
harlots/  the  enemies  whisper.  Thus  hasty  unveilings  work 
at  times  irreparable  harm  to  our  cause.  Small  wonder 
we  have  learned  to  watch  our  step.  Unless  we  are  abso- 
lutely sure  that  the  woman  has  enough  character  and 
intelligence  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of  a  pioneer, 
we  actually  go  to  the  length  of  discouraging  her.  We  try 
to  put  a  brake  on  impetuous  decisions.  This  is  particu- 
larly so  in  localities  where  the  number  of  unveiled  women 
is  still  small.  For  we  Bolsheviks,  while  intransigeant  in  our 
aims,  are  yet,  when  necessary,  patient  in  pursuing  them. 
We  gamble  only  when  we  are  fairly  certain  of  our  chances. 
And,  as  I  have  already  emphasized,  in  dealing  with  cul- 
tural and  psychological  'superstructures,'  we  often  resort 
to  Fabian  tactics. 

"By  opening  silk  and  textile  factories,  by  opening 
cotton-ginneries,  by  paying  more  than  a  woman  can  pos- 
sibly earn  in  her  primitive  home  crafts,  by  organizing 
relatively  good  kitchens  and  nurseries  and  dispensaries 
and  clubs  in  the  factories,  we  lure  the  woman  out  of  her 
seclusion,  gradually  but  irretrievably.  This  may  not  be  as 
romantic  as  you  first  imagined,  but  it  is  more  certain. 
Four  or  five  weeks  in  a  factory  do  marvels  for  the  woman. 
And  the  man's  objections  and  jealous  fears  subside,  too, 
when  he  discovers  that  his  wife's  earnings  add  considerably 
to  his  family  income.  Also,  by  encouraging  collectivization 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  301 

of  agriculture,  we  enhance  the  process  of  woman's  emanci- 
pation. In  a  collective  farm  each  individual  who  works 
gets  paid  according  to  a  specified  norm.  Equal  work  brings 
equal  pay.  The  wife  of  a  farmer  in  a  collective  knows  ex- 
actly the  extent  of  her  contribution  to  the  family  purse; 
she  can  leave  her  husband  and  still  be  economically  as 
secure  as  when  she  lived  with  him. 

"It  is  on  this  base  of  changed  economic  and  social  rela- 
tions that  a  new  cultural  life  can  be  built,  and  with  it  a 
new  psychology.  We  are  a  transition  generation.  Knee- 
deep  in  our  feudal  past,  we  are  attempting  to  build  our 
children's  Socialist  future.  It  is  hard.  Some  lose  strength 
and  courage.  But  there  are  always  others  to  take  up  the 
work.  Despite  the  beys,  the  mullahs,  the  Basmachi,  the 
plotters  from  abroad,  Ibrahim  Bek,  the  Revolution  forges 
ahead,  freeing  all  of  us,  men  and  women  of  Central  Asia, 
from  the  memory  of  a  past  that  seems  too  horrible  to  have 
ever  been  real." 


XVI 
THE  END  OF  THE  BASMACHI 


Should  you  want  to  return  to  our  land  again— 
Every  stone  in  the  road  will  arise  to  restrain  you, 
Every  tree  on  the  way  stick  its  twigs  in  your  eyes. 
Every  vine  will  become  an  entangling  knot, 
The  mountains  will  shrug  their  shoulders  and  throw 
Mighty  avalanches  down,  the  rivers  will  rise, 
And  the  women  will  show  their  rage. . . . 
Do  not  come  back  to  Badakhshan, 
Know  hatred  here  awaits  your  bloody  band. 

—TADJIK  FOLK  SONG. 


A  Touch  of  the  Exotic 

IN  Koktash  (Green  Rock),  the  center  of  the  Lokai  Dis- 
trict, we  chanced  upon  a  grand  celebration.  From  all 
over  the  valley  Red  Stick  detachments,  Tadjiks  and  Uz- 
beks and  Kirghiz,  men  and  women  and  children,  on  horse- 
back and  on  foot,  came  here  in  throngs  for  the  festivities. 

For  years  Lokai  had  been  the  stronghold  of  the  Basmach 
movement  in  Tadjikistan.  The  local  population,  mainly 
nomad  Uzbek  tribes,  had  long  been  renowned  for  its  bold 
and  warlike  character.  Lokai  was  the  home  of  the  most 
formidable  bands,  and  the  birthplace  of  Ibrahim  Bek  him- 
self, the  most  prominent  Basmach  leader  in  Central  Asia. 

When  in  the  spring  Ibrahim  Bek  came  back  from 
Afghanistan,  the  first  thing  he  did,  say  the  Lokai  peasants, 
was  to  make  his  way  to  Koktash,  to  his  own  people,  his 
own  tribe.  There  he  had  hoped  to  find  his  staunchest  fol- 
lowers. At  a  secret  meeting  of  all  his  tribal  kin,  he  de- 
livered himself  of  an  impassioned  plea  for  support.  He 
boasted  of  his  strength  and  international  backing,  of  huge 
armies,  with  plenty  of  cannon  and  machine  guns  and  am- 

30* 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  303 

munition,  of  a  huge  air  fleet  across  the  border.  He  made 
little  of  the  Red  Army  and  the  Soviet  government.  "Five 
years  ago,"  he  is  reported  to  have  exclaimed,  "I  abandoned 
Eastern  Bokhara  to  let  you  feel  for  yourselves  what  Bol- 
shevism meant.  Now  you  have  learnt  your  lesson.  Now 
you  have  had  a  taste  of  Bolshevism.  Now  you  know  which 
flag  to  follow.  I  have  come  back  certain  of  your  choice. 
Join  me  in  a  holy  war  against  the  infidels,  the  Reds,  for 
our  lands,  our  property,  our  women,  our  faith!" 

Then  the  elder  of  the  tribe  arose.  He  was  an  old  man, 
the  revered  upholder  of  tribal  tradition.  Everybody  grew 
silent.  The  old  man  was  under  the  strain  of  conflicting 
loyalties.  Say  what  you  would,  Ibrahim  was  a  member  of 
his  tribe,  his  clan.  He  had  legitimate  claims  on  his  Lokai 
kinsmen.  Yet  there  were  other  claims  and  other  loyalties 
too.  The  old  man  was  fumbling  for  words  to  express  the 
tangle  of  his  feelings.  After  carefully  examining  the 
handful  of  green  tobacco  powder  he  had  shaken  out  of 
the  little  gourd,  he  deliberately  stuffed  it  in  his  cheek  and, 
staring  with  his  austere  eyes  above  the  heads  of  his  as- 
sembled kinsfolk,  began  to  tell  of  the  great  things  that 
were  taking  place  in  the  land.  It  was  a  pasan  of  praise  to 
the  new  life.  Then  he  stopped,  spat  out  his  tobacco,  and 
slowly  shaking  his  head,  half  in  sorrow,  half  in  reproach, 
concluded: 

"Ibrahim,  Ibrahim,  you  say  you  have  come  to  defend 
us  against  the  Reds,  that  you  have  a  great  army  and  pow- 
erful friends.  But  why,  Ibrahim,  do  you  come  to  us  in  the 
black  hours  of  the  night,  stealthily,  like  a  thief?  Why, 
Ibrahim,  do  you  keep  to  the  hills  like  a  goat?  Our  tribe 
has  fought  long  enough,  Ibrahim.  Now  we  have  begun  to 
work.  Soon  the  cotton  fields  will  be  blooming  in  Lokai. 
We  do  not  want  you,  Ibrahim.  Leave  us  in  peace, 
Ibrahim." 

A  tumult  started.  Virtually  all  of  the  tribesmen  took  the 
side  of  the  elder.  Only  a  few  kulaks  clung  to  the  Basmach 
leader.  Seeing  that  his  mission  in  Lokai  was  a  failure, 
Ibrahim  leaped  on  his  black  horse  and  sped  away  into 
the  mountains  like  the  wind. 


304  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

This  was  not  the  end  of  Ibrahim.  Furious  at  having 
been  spurned,  he  vented  his  anger  on  the  population.  Like 
hawks  his  Basmachi  would  swoop  down  from  the  Babatagu 
Mountain  upon  the  peaceful  Lokai  settlements,  seizing 
food,  clothes,  horses,  setting  fire  to  dwellings,  slaying  those 
who  resisted.  Spontaneously,  the  Lokai  population  rallied 
around  the  Red  forces,  formed  Red  Stick  brigades,  ferret- 
ing out  the  Basmachi,  giving  no  quarter  to  the  enemy. 
Within  a  few  weeks  the  valley  was  rid  of  the  invaders. 
And  now  they  were  celebrating  the  victory. 

In  retrospect,  the  entire  celebration— the  setting,  the 
costumes,  the  games,  the  speeches,  and  especially  the 
things  that  took  place  the  night  following  the  festivities- 
seems  like  a  memory  from  the  Arabian  Nights. 

A  vast,  brilliantly  green  field  encircled  by  chains  of 
snow-hooded  mountains  spreads  out  in  an  amphitheater 
to  the  jagged  edge  of  the  horizon.  In  the  middle  of  the 
field,  six  large  concentric  circles.  Shades  of  red  and  yellow 
and  orange  and  blue  and  white  mutinous  in  the  breeze. 
Turbans,  embroidered  skull-caps,  cloaks  of  silks  and 
calicoes,  and  rifles,  and  sticks,  and  flags,  and  sabers.  The 
outermost  circle  is  formed  by  the  equestrian  detachment. 
Laughter,  clapping  of  hands,  neighing  and  champing  of 
horses.  A  little  to  the  side,  a  row  of  huge  copper  kettles 
enveloped  in  smoke  and  flame— pilaf  and  tea  for  the  cele- 
bration. Overhead  the  ceaseless  screeching  of  the  puzzled 
eagles. 

Our  approach  creates  a  flurry  of  commotion.  Young 
fellows  with  moving-picture  cameras  snoop  about  us.  (The 
Tadjik-kino  on  the  job!)  Kodzhibaiev,  Chairman  of  the 
People's  Commissars  of  the  Tadjik  Republic,  dressed  in 
semi-military  uniform,  his  white  linen  tunic  luminously 
starched,  rises  to  greet  us,  placing  his  hand  on  his  breast 
as  is  the  custom,  and  bowing  with  a  great  show  of  cere- 
monious cordiality.  The  warriors,  on  discovering  who  we 
are,  greet  us  with  loud  acclaim. 

After  the  hubbub  created  by  our  arrival  subsides,  the 
peasants  resume  their  games.  In  the  inner  circle  a  number 
of  wrestling  matches  is  soon  in  progress.  The  group  of 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  305 

peasants  by  my  side,  all  of  them  Uzbeks  from  the  same 
village,  apparently,  keep  on  goading  one  bearded  fellow 
in  their  midst  to  step  forth  and  display  his  prowess.  They 
are  obviously  proud  of  him  and  his  huge  frame  and  they 
want  the  whole  world  to  know  it.  But  he  pretends  to  be 
reluctant.  The  peasants  naturally  behave  as  their  hero  ex- 
pects them  to.  They  urge  him  and  pull  him  and  finally 
succeed  in  pushing  him  into  the  ring.  At  first  he  strolls 
languidly  along  the  inner  edge  of  the  circle  staring  chal- 
lengingly  at  the  squatting  audience.  Each  village  seems 
to  have  its  own  champion.  But  the  bearded  chap  looks 
formidable  and  it  takes  time  to  find  any  one  who 
cares  to  match  strength  with  him.  Finally,  a  patriarchal 
Tadjik  emerges.  An  elaborate  ceremony  follows:  genu- 
flexions, bows,  etc.  Then  both  rise  and  begin  to  walk 
around  each  other  in  circles.  First  quietly,  nonchalantly, 
almost  lazily.  Cries  of  encouragement  and  derision  issue 
from  the  crowd.  The  temperature  rises.  The  contestants 
begin  to  whirl  around  each  other  faster  and  faster,  each 
aiming  to  seize  hold  of  the  colored  belt  or  the  shirt  collar 
of  his  opponent.  Finally  the  real  struggle  is  on.  The 
Tadjik  patriarch  throws  out  his  leg  with  inconceivable 
swiftness,  trips  his  opponent  (this  is  allowed  by  the  rules 
of  the  game),  and  within  a  fraction  of  a  second  has  him 
pinned  to  the  ground  on  his  back.  A  storm  of  approval 
from  the  audience.  The  victor  rises  and  grinning  in  his 
gray  beard  begins  to  leap  on  one  leg  along  the  edge  of  the 
ring,  until  he  reaches  the  spot  where  the  prizes  are  being 
handed  out,  where  he  stops,  bows  and  softly  strokes  his 
beard.  The  sight  of  a  patriarch  wrestling  and  then  pranc- 
ing on  one  leg  seems  a  little  incongruous  at  first, 
but  when  one  enters  into  the  spirit  of  the  game  the 
thing  seems  quite  natural.  The  prize  is  a  strip  of  calico 
sufficient  for  a  cloak.  The  wrestling  keeps  up  for  a  couple 
of  hours.  All  the  contestants  perform  all  the  movements 
demanded  by  tradition,  kneeling  and  bowing  and  leaping 
on  one  leg  and  stroking  of  real  or  imaginary  beards 
while  receiving  the  prizes.  When  all  the  prizes  are  dis- 
tributed, the  circles  of  spectators  are  broken  up.  Large 


306  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

wooden  bowls  of  pilaf  are  distributed  through  the  crowd. 
Each  bowl  becomes  the  center  of  a  small  group  of  peasants 
squatting  around  it  and  diligently  fishing  out  handfuls  of 
rice,  as  they  discuss  excitedly  the  outcome  of  the  various 
matches. 

I  eat  from  the  same  bowl  with  Issay  Buri,  a  poor  Lokai 
peasant  who  had  been  persuaded  by  his  mullah  to  join 
the  Basmach  movement.  However,  the  behavior  of  the 
Basmachi  soon  disgusted  him  and  he  went  over  to  the 
Reds.  To  prove  his  good  faith,  he  slew  his  chieftain,  cut 
off  his  head,  salted  it,  and  brought  it  in  a  bag  as  a  trophy 
to  the  Koktash  Soviet.  The  story  is  told  with  an  air  of 
matter-of-factness  quite  startling  to  one  who  has  been  used 
to  spilling  only  ink  and  waging  battles  only  with  his  pen. 

After  the  repast,  an  amusing  and  rather  characteristic 
incident  occurs.  A  few  of  the  Red  Sticks  approach  Khod- 
zhibaiev with  a  suggestion  that  they  have  a  game  of  goat- 
tearing.  Khodzhibaiev  is  categorical:  "No."  The  Red 
Sticks  persist,  pressing  all  kinds  of  arguments:  After  all, 
this  is  an  extraordinary  occasion;  nothing  would  please 
the  warriors  more;  furthermore,  it  would  be  great  enter- 
tainment for  the  foreign  guests.  Khodzhibaiev  looks  very 
sternly  at  them.  "What's  the  use  of  asking  the  impossible? 
We  have  a  law  forbidding  goat-tearing.  It  is  an  uncivilized 
game— brutal,  savage.  We  are  trying  to  be  better  than  we 
have  been  in  the  past.  We  are  trying  to  be  cultured." 

As  a  compromise  with  the  demands  of  "culture,"  the 
Red  Sticks  offer  to  kill  the  goat  before  starting  the  game. 
(In  the  past  only  a  live  goat  was  used.)  Again  Khodzhibaiev 
delivers  an  eloquent  exhortation  about  culture.  Though 
he  speaks  very  persuasively,  I  detect  in  his  voice  a  tremu- 
lous longing  to  see  the  game  himself.  The  Red  Sticks  are 
no  fools.  They  detect  it  too.  So  they  keep  on  pressing: 
"Just  this  once!"  Khodzhibaiev  becomes  angry:  "I  say  no; 
you  understand?  And  now  you  can  do  what  you  please." 
We  all  know  that  Khodzhibaiev  really  means  "Yes." 

It  does  not  take  more  than  a  minute  before  a  goat 
mysteriously  appears  on  the  scene.  In  three  minutes  the 
slain  goat  is  flung  into  the  midst  of  the  hundreds  of  horse- 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  307 

men  who  are  milling  on  one  spot.  Immediately  there  is 
pandemonium.  With  wild  shouts  and  whistles  the  riders 
begin  to  beat  their  horses,  pushing  simultaneously  to  the 
spot  where  the  goat  has  fallen.  The  peasant  who  first  man- 
ages to  bend  down  from  his  saddle  far  enough  to  get 
hold  of  the  goat's  leg  is  pressed  by  the  horsemen  from 
all  sides,  everybody  striving  to  snatch  the  goat  away  from 
him  while  he  tries  to  break  through  the  besiegers. 
Suddenly  a  young  horseman,  issuing  a  piercing  yell,  yanks 
his  horse's  bridle  so  ferociously  that  the  enraged  animal 
rears  way  up  in  the  air  and  hurls  itself  in  the  direction  of 
the  possessor  of  the  goat.  While  the  horse  is  still  in  the  air, 
the  young  fellow  slips  out  of  his  saddle,  though  one  of  his 
feet  remains  in  the  stirrup,  and  like  a  vulture,  with  claws 
outstretched,  falls  swiftly  on  his  prey.  For  a  moment  the 
group  gives  way.  He  snatches  the  goat,  and  with  a  face 
contorted  with  exertion  and  triumph,  swings  back  into 
the  saddle  and  makes  a  dash  for  the  mountain.  But  im- 
mediately he  is  surrounded  by  the  horsemen  again  and 
another  fierce  struggle  begins.  This  lasts  for  about  a 
half-hour.  Finally,  one  fellow  who  seems  to  have  been 
conserving  his  strength  by  always  being  just  at  the  out- 
skirts of  the  real  fight,  makes  one  plunge  for  the  goat  and 
before  any  one  realizes  what  has  happened  flies  like  a 
bullet  toward  the  mountain.  The  pursuit  is  hot,  but  of  no 
avail.  He  reaches  the  goal.  The  goat  is  his.  To-morrow  his 
village  will  feast  on  goat  meat. 


Two  Documents 

The  games  over,  the  whole  crowd  in  hilarious  proces- 
sion marches  to  the  village.  We  pass  through  a  wooden  tri- 
umphal arch,  painted  red,  and  halt  in  front  of  a  huge 
rostrum  on  which  the  speakers  are  already  assembled.  This 
is  the  formal  part  of  the  celebration,  not  much  different 
from  other  formal  celebrations  in  the  Soviet  Union- 
speeches,  slogans,  proud  reciting  of  achievements,  etc. 
The  most  colorful  part  of  the  program  is  the  handing  out 


308  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

of  rewards— watches,  sabers  and  rifles— to  the  best  Red 
Stick  fighters. 

The  rewards  most  cherished  are  the  rifles,  and  those  who 
receive  them  are  the  happiest  and  proudest  people  in  the 
Lokai!  Among  the  best  Red  Stick  fighters  is  Bibitshan 
Manuir,  a  plump  middle-aged  woman.  She  approaches  the 
rostrum  unveiled,  with  a  baby  at  her  breast.  Though  she 
has  the  important  post  of  Chairman  of  the  District  Soviet, 
she  is  still  quite  shy.  Being  the  object  of  so  much  attention 
and  admiration  upsets  her.  She  pulls  at  her  kerchief  nerv- 
ously and  giggles.  She  is  handed  a  watch  on  which  the 
gratitude  of  the  workers'  government  is  engraved  in  bold 
indelible  letters.  Taking  the  watch  and  glancing  at  it  fur- 
tively, she  tries  to  hide  in  the  crowd.  Her  confusion  creates 
much  merriment.  The  crowd  insists  on  her  remaining 
in  the  front. 

A  young  Tadjik  Communist,  a  student  from  Stalinabad, 
recites  a  poem  entitled  "From  an  Undistinguished  and 
Modest  Tadjik  of  the  Soviet  Mountains  to  Thee,  O  Eng- 
lish Empire."  Roughly  translated,  the  "Modest  Tadjik's" 
address  to  the  English  Empire  is  this: 

/  know  you,  Great  Britain, 

The  suffering  of  our  blood  brothers- 
is  the  work  of  your  hands, 

The  trace  of  your  fat  fingers- 
is  still  on  your  victims'  throats. 

Murder,  rapine,  hunger- 
are  the  work  of  your  hands, 
O  British  Empire. 

You  made  the  fools  amongst  us 

fight  among  themselves. 

You  dashed  their  heads  together— 

You  made  them  fight  your  wars. 

Chains,  shackles,  graveyards 

are  the  work  of  your  hands, 

And  the  yellow  flame  of  treason 

is  the  work  of  your  hands. . . . 

Everywhere  from  Gasn  to  Kushka 

From  Shore  to  Chushka-Guzar, 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  309 

Through  the  rocky  mountains 

you  have  aimed  your  blow  at  us, 

O  British  Empire. 
But  soon  the  London  docker  and  the  farm  hand  from 

Jalalabad 

Will  smash  your  crown,  O  Britain; 
Your  victims  will  walk  out  of  your  prisons, 
Their  fire  will  sweep  through  your  night; 
They  will  charge  their  guns  with  fresh  bullets, 
And  direct  their  bayonets  into  thee, 

O  British  Empire! 

Among  the  speeches,  that  of  Rahim  Khodzhibaiev  is 
the  best  and  the  most  warmly  received.  It  is  a  typical  ex- 
pression of  the  Central- Asian's  revolutionary  credo: 

"Red  Sticks,  Comrades,  warriors,  in  celebrating  our 
triumph  over  the  Basmachi,  it  is  well  briefly  to  survey  our 
past.  Our  country  is  the  youngest  brother  in  the  socialist 
family  of  nations  forming  the  Soviet  Union:  it  is  only 
eight  years  since  our  laboring  Tadjik  masses  have  thrown 
off  the  heavy  yoke  of  capitalism  and  feudalism. 

"In  the  grip  of  a  long  and  torturous  agony,  the  old  or- 
der squeezed,  mangled  and  crushed  this  land  of  enormous 
possibilities,  this  land  of  an  heroic  people  which  had  for 
centuries  been  suffering  and  battling  for  the  right  of  free 
labor,  for  self-determination. 

"The  Soviet  Union  celebrated  seven  Octobers  while  our 
Tadjik  peasants,  together  with  the  glorious  Red  Army, 
were  fighting  along  the  narrow  mountain  paths,  winning 
back  step  by  step  the  blood-soaked  ravines  and  valleys 
from  the  ancient  Emirate  supported  by  the  crutch  of  Eng- 
lish imperialism. 

"That  is  past.  The  years  of  slavery,  poverty,  hunger 
have  scrawled  a  bloody  picture  over  the  pages  of  history. 
Our  villages,  devastated  during  the  years  of  struggle,  are 
only  now  putting  out  the  flames  of  that  terrible  conflagra- 
tion. The  Civil  War  has  left  deep  scars  on  the  economic 
body  of  our  young,  mountainous  Soviet  Republic. 

"The  October  Revolution  liberated  the  Tadjik  people 
from  colonial  oppression.  It  cleared  the  way  for  national 


31O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

emancipation,  created  the  conditions  for  our  political  and 
economic  development,  and  said,  'Now  build!* 

"Our  liberated  land  of  green  spaces  and  snow-covered 
peaks  has  been  engaged  in  monumental  construction  for 
eight  years.  Ibrahim  Bek  has  tried  to  disrupt  our  work, 
but  the  toiling  masses  of  our  land,  our  Red  Stick  heroes, 
have  given  him  the  answer.  His  bands  are  destroyed.  Our 
cotton  campaign  goes  on.  And  to-morrow  or  the  day  after 
we  will  have  him  safely  behind  bars. 

"Yes,  comrades,  the  worst  is  over.  Yet  it  would  be  a 
grave  error  to  think  that  we  have  already  overcome  all 
difficulties.  The  road  before  our  masses  of  workers  and 
peasants  still  calls  for  tremendous  exertion  of  will.  The 
will  toward  socialist  construction,  toward  a  final  attack 
on  the  old  life  of  cultural  backwardness  and  ignorance, 
toward  the  elimination  of  the  last  vestiges  of  feudalism 
and  landlordism,  toward  unflagging  labor  in  raising  our 
political  and  economic  power— this  is  the  glorious  road 
our  young  Socialist  Republic  must  follow. . .  . 

"With  revolutionary  enthusiasm  the  toilers  of  Tad- 
jikistan will  lay  stone  upon  stone,  erecting  the  new  edi- 
fice of  the  Tadjik  Soviet  Republic,  and  the  proletariat  of 
the  whole  Union  will  cement  these  stones  with  their  fra- 
ternally attentive  help  and  guidance. 

"We  are  building  a  model  Soviet  Socialist  Republic  at 
the  gates  of  Hindustan. 

"The  guarantee  of  our  success  is  the  Communist  Party, 
the  party  of  the  vanguard  of  the  proletariat,  the  party 
which  has  led  the  workers  and  peasants  of  the  Soviet 
Union  to  their  great  victory. 

"Our  successes  offer  the  best  possible  example  for  revo- 
lutionizing the  enslaved  East— India,  Persia,  Afghanistan, 
and  others. 

"Our  existence  and  the  experience  of  the  Soviet  toilers 
will  plant  in  the  consciousness  of  the  oppressed  masses  of 
the  East  faith  in  their  liberation  and  triumph  and  will 
unite  them  in  the  common  task  of  overthrowing  the  rule 
of  the  imperialists,  the  landlords,  the  rajahs,  and  institut- 
ing their  own  rule— the  rule  of  the  working  masses." 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  31 1 

A  Memorable  Night 

The  glaciers  are  aglow  in  the  flame  of  the  rapidly  sink- 
ing sun.  The  last  reward  is  given.  The  last  speech  made. 
Slowly  the  crowd  melts  away  in  all  directions  to  be  soon 
swallowed  by  the  thick  southern  night  and  be  lost  in  the 
near  and  far  settlements  in  the  Lokai  valley. 

After  a  brief  visit  to  the  ruined  home  of  Ibrahim  Bek 
on  the  banks  of  the  Kafirnigan,  we  gather  in  front  of  the 
cooperative  store,  by  the  side  of  the  dusty  road.  Rugs  are 
spread,  kok-choi  served,  and  the  inevitable  pilaf  and  uriuk. 

It  grows  darker. 

A  detachment  of  armed  Red  Sticks  gallops  by,  raising 
a  thick  cloud  of  dust,  and  vanishes  in  the  direction  of  the 
mountains. 

Above,  a  lonely  plane  rumbles  a  while  and  then,  becom- 
ing fainter  and  fainter,  is  finally  dissolved  in  the  night's 
stillness. 

"It'll  soon  be  in  Stalinabad,"  says  Khodzhibaiev  medi- 
tatively as  he  scrapes  the  soot  off  the  wick  of  a  small  kero- 
sene lamp. 

Everything  is  quiet  again.  Then  a  match  is  struck  and 
Khodzhibaiev's  face  swims  out  of  the  darkness  as  he  lights 
the  lamp  and  gingerly  adjusts  the  glass  chimney.  Other 
native  faces,  some  of  them  quite  familiar  to  me  by  now, 
begin  to  emerge  from  the  night.  The  spell  of  silence  is 
broken. 

"He's  somewhere  not  far  from  here,"  Khodzhibaiev 
speaks  up  again,  without  giving  any  indication  whom  he 
has  in  mind.  But  we  all  know,  for  we  have  all  been  think- 
ing of  him  too.  "His  bands  have  completely  frittered 
away,"  Khodzhibaiev  continues.  "The  peasants  from 
Khodzhi-Bul-Bulan  and  Ishkhabad  who  were  at  the  cele- 
bration told  me  that  they  were  hot  on  his  tracks;  they 
promised  to  deliver  him  to  us  in  Stalinabad  within  a  cou- 
ple of  days.  They  had  left  enough  Red  Sticks  behind  to 
keep  close  watch  over  his  movements.  The  volunteers  of 
Mukum  Sultanov  reported  the  same  thing." 


312  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Poor  Ibrahim!  He  certainly  had  not  expected  such  treat- 
ment in  his  Lokai  valley. 

One  of  the  natives  tells  an  amusing  episode:  Ibrahim 
raided  a  small  mountain  village  near  Kuliab.  Out  of  the 
fifteen  peasant  households  in  the  village,  eleven  sent  out 
secret  messengers  to  notify  the  authorities  in  Kuliab. 
Since  there  was  only  one  narrow  path  to  the  town,  the 
messengers  naturally  collided  with  one  another.  And  each 
told  the  next  one  some  fantastic  tale  to  account  for  his 
inordinate  haste.  They  had  a  good  laugh  when  they  all 
met,  out  of  breath,  in  the  Regional  Committee  head- 
quarters! 

Peasants,  singly  and  in  groups,  come  over  to  chat  with 
Khodzhibaiev.  And  he,  squatting  on  a  rug,  his  huge 
Kirghiz  hood  of  white  and  black  felt  in  his  lap,  listens  to 
their  stories,  complaints  and  requests.  He  has  been  on  the 
go  most  of  the  day,  and  his  feet  ache,  so  he  pulls  off  his 
gray  canvas  boots  and  while  conversing  with  the  peasants 
picks  on  his  toes.  Neither  he  nor  his  interlocutors  are 
conscious  of  any  incongruity.  An  outsider  would  find  it 
difficult  indeed  to  tell  who  in  this  group  is  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  officials  in  the  Republic  and  who  an  ob- 
scure peasant.  Several  of  the  peasants  submit  written 
petitions,  which  Khodzhibaiev,  after  quickly  perusing 
in  the  feeble  light  of  the  lamp,  carefully  deposits  in  his 
capacious  hood.  Some  cases  he  decides  forthwith,  others 
he  promises  to  consider  when  back  in  Stalinabad. 

Collectivization  is  still  very  new  in  these  regions.  No 
end  of  problems  and  abuses.  Here,  as  everywhere  in  the 
Union,  there  are  signs  of  what  Stalin  called  "dizziness 
from  success."  Here,  too,  cattle  has  been  wantonly  de- 
stroyed. And  the  enthusiasm  for  cotton  has  resulted  in  a 
certain  neglect  of  the  peasants  who  have  been  occupied  in 
raising  grain  or  alfalfa  or  in  tending  their  orchards.  The 
peasants  and  their  village  leaders  have  plenty  to  learn 
and  plenty  to  complain  about.  Now  it  is  a  matter  of  not 
receiving  enough  advance  credit,  now  of  not  being  able 
to  determine  the  relative  quantity  and  quality  of  work 
put  in  by  each  peasant  into  the  collective  enterprise,  now 


BUILDING  SOCIALISM  IN  TADJIKISTAN  313 

of  keeping  women  away  from  collective  work.  Experienced 
organizers,  bookkeepers,  agronomists,  mechanics,  tractor 
drivers,  directors  are  needed. 

One  peasant  hands  in  a  long  scroll  of  paper— a  docu- 
ment written  in  the  Persian  alphabet  and  decorated  with 
numerous  smudges  of  black  ink.  The  village  is  petitioning 
for  artificial  fertilizer.  And  the  smudges  are  the  impres- 
sions of  peasants'  thumbs  dipped  in  black  ink— the  signa- 
tures of  the  illiterates. 

It  is  growing  late.  We  are  worn  out  with  the  excitement 
of  the  day.  Thick  felt  mats  are  spread  out  on  the  floor  of 
the  cooperative  and  all  of  us  stretch  out,  using  our  clothes 
and  boots  for  cushions.  But  the  only  one  who  goes  off  into 
beatific  slumber  immediately  is  Khodzhibaiev,  his  head 
resting  on  the  threshold  of  the  open  door.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  door,  under  the  stars,  sleep  our  two  guards. 
We  soft  Westerners,  however,  are  tortured  by  insomnia. 
The  fleas  in  the  place  are  maddening.  Some  of  us  groan 
pitifully,  others  curse  and  scratch  and  curse  again,  others, 
realizing  that  groans  and  imprecations  won't  improve  mat- 
ters, lie  quietly,  and  only  when  things  become  absolutely 
unbearable  indulge  in  sporadic,  cautious  little  scratches. 
In  the  struggle  between  sleep  and  the  insects  over  the 
tired  travelers,  sleep  finally  wins. 

Suddenly  we  are  startled  by  the  scraping  of  heavy  boots 
and  the  sound  of  raucous  voices  outside.  No  one  moves. 
I  hear  the  thumping  of  my  neighbor's  heart,  as  I  try  to 
peer  through  the  darkness.  Then  a  light  appears  at  the 
door.  In  the  flicker  of  a  smoking  lantern  held  by  a  giant 
hand  I  recognize  our  two  guards.  They  are  followed  by  a 
heavily  armed  stranger,  obviously  an  Uzbek  Red  Stick. 
One  of  my  companions  jumps  up  clutching  at  his  re- 
volver. The  last  to  be  stirred  by  the  sudden  commotion 
is  Khodzhibaiev. 

"What's  up?  What's  the  trouble?" 

"Good  news,"  replies  the  Red  Stick,  handing  a  slip  of 
paper  to  Khodzhibaiev. 

The  guard  brings  the  lantern  closer  to  the  chief.  One 
glance  at  the  missive  and  Khodzhibaiev  is  wide  awake. 


314  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

"They  have  got  him!  They  have  caught  Ibrahim!  Hur- 
rah!" 

Happy  ejaculations  resound  through  the  room.  The 
Red  Stick  smiles  importantly  in  his  imposing  black  mus- 
taches. Khodzhibaiev  now  reads  the  message  aloud: 

TO  THE  GPU  OF  TADJIKISTAN-OFFICIAL 
COMMUNICATION 

(Copy  to  be  sent  to  the  Regional  Committee  of  the  Party) 

June  23.  Midnight.  We  have  taken  Ibrahim  Bek, 
Sahib  Commander,  and  one  Basmach  from  the  ranks. 
Place— between  the  villages  of  Ishkhabad,  Khodzhi- 
Bul-Bulan,  and  AJc-Turpak.  Ibrahim  Bek  and  his 
companions  were  on  foot.  Weapons— 2  rifles,  i 
Mauser,  i  Browning.  We  were  assisted  by  the  GPU. 
Also  the  Basmach  Issanbey  Babajan  has  surrendered. 
I  took  his  Mauser.  For  the  present  the  Basmach  lead- 
ers are  in  Comrade  Valeshev's  charge.  Ibrahim  Bek's 
pistol  is  still  in  my  possession. 

Mukum  Sultanov, 
Commander  of  Volunteer  Detachment. 

"Well,  that's  that,"  says  Khodzhibaiev,  dismissing  the 
messenger.  "Now  we  can  sleep  some  more,  and  peacefully. 
There  are  no  more  Basmachi  in  Tadjikistan!" 

And  he  never  gave  a  thought  to  the  fleas. . . . 

For  days  after,  the  press  of  Tadjikistan  was  full  of 
stories  about  Ibrahim  Bek  and  his  capture.  His  portrait 
appeared  everywhere  under  the  caption,  "Bitterest  Enemy 
of  the  Soviet  Power."  Messages  of  congratulation  from  all 
over  the  country,  especially  from  the  Central-Asian  Bu- 
reau at  Tashkent  and  from  Moscow,  were  published. 

On  July  5,  the  Central  Committee  of  the  Communist 
Party  of  Tadjikistan,  the  Central  Executive  Committee  of 
the  Soviets,  and  the  Soviet  of  People's  Commissars  of 
Tadjikistan  issued  the  following  Proclamation  "To  All 
Workers,  Collective  Farmers,  Poor  and  Middle  Peasants, 
Red  Army  Men,  Commanding  Staff,  Communist  Volun- 
teer Detachments,  and  Red  Sticks": 


BUILDING   SOCIALISM    IN   TADJIKISTAN  315 

COMRADES! 

Owing  to  the  united  struggle  of  the  workers,  col- 
lective farmers,  and  poor  and  middle  peasants  or- 
ganized in  Volunteer  Peasant  Detachments  and  Red 
Stick  Detachments  against  the  Basmachi,  owing  also 
to  the  crushing  blows  showered  upon  the  enemy  by 
our  glorious  Red  Army  and  its  Uzbek  and  Tadjik 
sections,  as  well  as  by  the  forces  of  the  OGPU,  the 
Basmach  movement  has  been  finally  and  completely 
eradicated. 

On  June  23,  1931,  the  Basmach  chieftains  Ishan- 
Isakhon,  Ali-Mardan-Datkho,  Tashmat  Bek,  Gaib 
Bek,  and  others  were  taken  captive.  Above  all, 
Ibrahim  Bek,  the  leader  of  the  Basmachi,  and  the 
pitiful  remnants  of  his  bands  have  been  captured  by 
the  collective  farmers  of  the  Khodzhi-Bul-Bulan  and 
Ishkhabad  villages  in  collaboration  with  the  Volun- 
teer Detachment  commanded  by  Mukum  Sultanov. 

This  concludes  the  struggle  against  the  Basmachi, 
the  struggle  against  the  enemy  who  has  invaded  our 
lands  from  across  the  border  in  an  effort  to  dis- 
rupt our  socialist  construction,  overthrow  the  Soviet 
Power,  and  restore  the  rule  of  the  Bokharan  Emir,  his 
officials,  his  beys  and  his  ishans. 

Our  overwhelming  victory  proves  once  and  for  all 
that  the  toiling  masses  of  Tadjikistan  are  ready  to 
fight  to  the  bitter  end  for  the  gains  of  the  October 
Revolution,  for  the  Bolshevik  Party,  and  for  the 
Soviet  Government. 

The  Communist  Party  and  the  Soviet  Government 
of  Tadjikistan  call  upon  you  to  draw  your  ranks  even 
closer  around  the  general  Bolshevik  line  of  the  Party 
and  to  proceed  at  an  even  greater  rate  of  speed  with 
our  socialist  construction,  building  collective  and 
state  farms,  striving  for  the  cotton  independence  of 
the  Soviet  Union,  for  the  liquidation  of  illiteracy,  in- 
tensifying the  ruthless  struggle  of  the  poor  and  middle 
peasantry  against  the  enemies  of  the  working  class— 
against  the  beys  and  ishans  and  other  anti-Soviet  ele- 
ments, against  all  domestic  and  foreign  enemies  of 
Socialist  construction. 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Long  live  the  workers,  collective  farmers,  and  the 
poor  and  middle  peasants  of  Tadjikistan,  organized 
under  the  leadership  of  the  Bolshevik  Party  into  Vol- 
unteer and  Red  Stick  Detachments  1 

Long  live  our  heroic  Red  Army  and  its  Tadjik  and 
Uzbek  sections! 

Long  live  the  trusted  guard  of  our  Revolution— 
the  OGPU! 

Long  live  the  Leninist  Communist  Party  of  the 
Bolsheviks  and  its  leader  Comrade  Stalin! 


PART  FIVE 
SOVIET  ASIA— 1934 


"The  aim  of  socialism  is  not  only  to  abolish  the  present 
fragmentation  of  mankind  into  small  states,  and  all  national 
isolation,  not  only  to  bring  the  nations  closer  to  each  other, 

but  also  to  merge  them Just  as  mankind  can  achieve  the 

abolition  of  classes  only  through  the  transition  period  of  the 
dictatorship  of  the  oppressed  class,  so  mankind  can  achieve 
the  inevitable  merging  of  nations  only  through  the  transition 
period  of  complete  liberation  of  all  the  oppressed  nations,  i.e., 
their  freedom  to  secede " 

—V.  I.  LENIN,  "The  Social  Revolution 
and  the  Right  of  Nations  to  Self -Deter- 
mination." 


XVII 
A  FANTASY  BASED  ON  FACT 

Never  again  will  you  hear  the  cries  of  our  slain 

children, 
The  snorting  of  Basmach  horses,  the  hisses  of 

murderous  lashes 

—From  a  Tadjik  Folksong. 

Poignant  Thoughts. . . .  Bitter  Thoughts 

THEY  say  that  when  Ibrahim  Bek,  slightly  wounded, 
was  taken  by  plane  to  Stalinabad,  he  looked  upon  the 
vast  collective  and  state  cotton  fields  in  the  fertile  valley 
below,  on  the  new  constructions,  roads,  canals,  Machine 
and  Tractor  Stations,  and  his  proud  head  drooped.  And  as 
the  plane,  before  landing,  circled  several  times  over  the 
humming  Tadjik  capital,  Ibrahim,  who  since  his  return 
from  Afghanistan  had  kept  "like  a  goat"  to  the  hills, 
gasped  with  irrepressible  surprise.  Later,  when  he  was 
questioned  by  the  representatives  of  the  Tadjik  Govern- 
ment, the  once  terrible  Basmach  leader  crestfallenly  de- 
clared that  if  he  had  known  the  real  extent  of  Tadjikistan's 
progress,  if  he  had  believed  the  wonderful  tales  he  had 
heard  among  the  Afghan  peasants  along  the  borders,  he 
would  have  never  undertaken  the  task  of  starting  a 
counter-revolution  in  Central  Asia  and  of  restoring  the 
Emir. 

That  was  in  the  middle  of  1931.  At  that  time  Ibrahim 
Bek  saw  only  the  vague  outlines  of  the  Central-Asian's 
socialist  dream  and  only  the  first  tangible  signs  of  fulfill- 
ment. Four  years  have  passed  since  then,  four  unparalleled 
though  difficult  years  of  gigantic  socialist  construction. 
The  face  of  Central  Asia  has  changed.  The  splendid  future 

3*9 


320  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

is  already  clearly  discernible  in  the  achievements  of  the 
present.  One  recalls  Bakhrom  Amri-Khudoiev  of  Cold 
Springs,  who  in  1924  wrote  to  his  Communist  kinsman 
Sobyr-Djon: 

"Mullah,  do  not  come  back.  Do  you  hear  the  far  cry 
of  our  hills?  They  say:  "For  thousands  of  years  have 
we  lived  here  guided  by  the  laws  of  Allah  and  His 
Prophet,  and  there  can  be  no  change,  there  cannot! 
See,  our  summits  quake,  our  mighty  glaciers  crumble 
away,  ready  to  crush  you.  We  do  not  want  to  know 
you!  We  shall  defend  our  unreasonable  human  herd 
from  your  teachings " 

And  one  wonders  about  him  and  about  all  the  other 
pious  Moslems  whose  passionate  aversion  for  the  new  he 
so  eloquently  expressed.  One  wonders  about  Ibrahim  Bek: 
If  still  alive,  what  does  he  feel  now  about  the  miraculous 
transformation  of  his  land?  One  also  wonders  about 
Ibrahim  Bek's  master,  Emir  Alim  Khan. 

He,  reports  say,  is  still  alive.  He  is  a  great  fur  merchant 
in  Kabul.  It  is  almost  fifteen  years  since  he  had  offered  to 
the  gentle  mercies  of  English  imperialism  a  land  that  was 
no  longer  his  and  a  population  that  had  violently  repu- 
diated him.  A  very  attractive  morsel  that  was,  too,  but  just 
then,  alas,  a  little  too  difficult  for  England  to  swallow. 
Fifteen  years  have  passed,  years  of  vast  effort  and  vast 
achievement  for  Soviet  Central  Asia.  Each  year  a  decade, 
each  year  a  half  century!  It  took  Europe  almost  three  hun- 
dred years  to  complete  the  bourgeois  revolution,  but  Cen- 
tral Asia,  in  fifteen  years,  has  leaped  from  the  stage  of 
feudalism  over  the  whole  capitalist  era  straight  into  the 
rule  of  the  proletariat  and  the  beginning  of  Socialism. 

One  imagines  a  quiet  evening  in  the  Emir's  mansion  in 
Kabul.  It  is  December,  1934.  Alim  Khan  is  alone.  He  is 
reclining  on  a  richly  embroidered  soft  divan,  trying  to 
relax  after  a  long  day  of  worry  and  irritation.  But  he  can- 
not rest.  How  can  one  rest  when  all  the  time  nostalgic 
thoughts  of  the  past,  the  irretrievable  past  haunt  one's 
memory? 


SOVIET  ASIA — 1934  331 

Noble  Bokhara . . .  high,  holy,  divinely  descended  Bok- 
hara . . .  sweet,  crowned  city  of  Emir  Alim  Khan's  dreams! 
How  happy  and  hopeful  Alim  Khan  was  when  in  1931 
Ibrahim  Bek  went  forth  to  reconquer  for  him  his  ancient 
and  rightful  domain.  Surely,  it  was  not  his,  Alim  Khan's, 
fault  that  the  affair  turned  out  a  fiasco.  Had  he  not  done 
all  he  could,  indeed  more  than  he  could,  to  support 
Ibrahim?  Allah  only  knows  how  much  money  he  had  sunk 
into  that  adventure,  and  all  for  nothing!  A  miserable 
fizzle! 

To  drive  away  his  bitter  thoughts,  the  Emir  glances  at 
the  newspaper.  But  he  finds  no  surcease  from  his  sorrows, 
no  escape.  Everywhere  are  reminders  of  his  great  loss.  The 
paper,  too,  right  on  the  front  page,  announces  in  glaring 
headlines:  "Soviet  Central  Asia  Celebrates  Tenth  Anni- 
versary of  the  Creation  of  the  Uzbek,  Tadjik,  and 
Turkoman  Socialist  Soviet  Republics  from  the  National 
Elements  in  the  Turkestan  of  the  Czars  and  the  Bokhara 
of  the  Emirs."  Sadly  Alim  Khan  puts  away  the  paper  and 
turns  to  the  radio.  Again  the  U.S.S.R.  Again  the  by  now 
familiar  and  hateful  voice  of  Khodzhibaiev,  Chairman  of 
the  Central  Executive  Committee  of  the  Soviet  Union 
and  of  the  Uzbek  Republic: 

. . .  On  the  basis  of  the  correct  prosecution  of  the 
Leninist-Stalinist  national  policy  of  our  Party 

The  Emir  wants  to  shut  off  the  radio,  but  he  cannot.  A 
strange  paralysis  creeps  over  him.  He  does  not  want  to 
listen,  but  some  perverse  force  compels  him  to: 

...  on  the  basis  of  the  unflagging  and  systematic  con- 
cern shown  by  our  Government  for  the  backward 
peoples  of  the  Union,  our  national  republics  have  at- 
tained tremendous  successes  in  the  building  of  social- 
ism. Uzbekistan  and  Tadjikistan  may  serve  as  clear 
examples  of  this.  These  former  colonies  of  tsarist 
Russia,  where  the  Emirs  and  their  feudal  henchmen 
once  held  sway,  have,  since  the  October  Revolution, 
made  an  enormous  advance.  Once  economically  and 


322  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

culturally  backward,  these  countries  are  rapidly 
reaching  a  position  of  foremost  importance  among  the 
republics  of  the  Soviet  Union. 

Let  us  first  take  agriculture.  The  sown  area  in  the 
Central- Asian  Republics  has  increased  from  2.4  mil- 
lion hectares  in  1920  to  4.4  million  hectares  in  1934— 
an  increase  of  83  per  cent.  Great  progress  has  been 
made  in  the  raising  of  cotton,  our  basic  agricultural 
product.  The  cotton  area  has  grown  from  325,000  hec- 
tares in  1924  to  1,244,000  in  1934—3  400  per  cent  in- 
crease, while  the  total  production  of  cotton  has 
increased  500  per  cent.  Furthermore,  our  agriculture 
is  being  rapidly  mechanized.  In  1924  there  were  only 
358  tractors  in  the  whole  of  Central  Asia;  in  1934 
the  number  has  jumped  to  14,000  and  is  still  grow- 
ing. In  Uzbekistan,  85  per  cent  of  the  holdings  of  the 
poor  and  middle  peasants  are  joined  in  collective 
farms  which  are  improving  all  the  time  and  in  every 
respect— organizationally,  economically,  and  cultur- 
ally. Already  the  state  and  collective  farms  of  Uzbeki- 
stan provide  more  than  96  per  cent  of  that  Republic's 
total  production  of  cotton,  more  than  80  per  cent  of 
the  grain  and  70  per  cent  of  the  live  stock. 

In  Tadjikistan,  too,  despite  the  ravages  of  the  Bas- 
machi  as  late  as  the  spring  of  1931,  agriculture,  espe- 
cially cotton-growing,  has  made  tremendous  strides. 
There  the  cotton  area  has  expanded  from  35,000 
hectares  before  the  war  to  91,000  hectares  in  1934. 
What  is  particularly  significant  is  the  development  of 
the  highly  valuable,  long-fibered  Egyptian  cotton.  In 
1930,  only  3,900  hectares  in  Tadjikistan  were  devoted 
to  Egyptian  cotton;  in  1934  we  already  have  25,400 
hectares.  Eighty-five  per  cent  of  the  cotton  area  in 
Tadjikistan  is  socialized 


A  Soviet  Rhapsody 

Numbers!  Numbers!  Numbers!  A  rhapsody  of  numbers! 
A  Soviet  rhapsody!  Every  number  is  like  a  dagger.  It  cuts 
Alim  Khan  to  the  quick.  But  he  listens,  drawing  a  strange 
masochistic  pleasure  from  the  very  sharpness  of  the  pain: 


SOVIET   ASIA 1934  323 

. . .  During  the  First  Five-Year  Plan,  the  irrigated 
cotton  area  in  the  Union  was  increased  by  45  per  cent, 
and  in  1933  over  three  million  acres  were  served  by 
the  various  irrigation  systems— the  Karabekaul,  Savai, 
and  Guyi  Canals.  A  major  achievement  in  this  re- 
spect has  been  the  new  system  of  irrigation  intro- 
duced in  the  Vakhsh  valley  in  Tadjikistan,  designed 
to  convert  another  247,000  acres  of  desert  into  fertile 
cotton  land.  The  work  on  the  Vakhsh  was  started  a 
few  years  ago.  The  first  water  was  turned  into  the 
irrigation  canals  in  the  spring  of  1933  when  an  area 
of  18,500  acres  was  brought  under  cultivation.  A 
total  of  4,000  kilometers  of  irrigation  canals  was  con- 
structed before  the  end  of  1933,  including  the  main 
canal  and  its  floodgate.  The  latter  is  forty  meters  in 
length  and  twelve  meters  in  height  and  can  turn  150 
cubic  meters  of  water  per  second  into  the  irrigation 
system. 

The  construction  of  the  canal  is  an  important  en- 
gineering achievement  on  which  twenty-six  powerful 
excavators  were  employed.  Some  nine  hundred 
meters  of  the  canal  had  to  be  cut  through  solid 
rock,  the  depth  of  the  excavation  reaching  sixteen 
meters.  The  auxiliary  constructions  completed  in 
1934  include  new  workers'  settlements,  a  narrow- 
gauge  railway,  a  motor  road  connecting  the  Vakhsh 
valley  with  Stalinabad,  the  capital  of  the  Tadjik  Re- 
public, a  telephone  line,  machine  shops,  and  so  on. 
So  far  the  sum  of  120  million  rubles  has  been  ex- 
pended on  the  Vakhsh  system.  Several  thousand 
peasant  households  from  the  mountain  and  northern 
regions  have  been  settled  there.  This  year  we  expect 
to  settle  there  twelve  thousand  more.  Another  im- 
portant project  is  the  Fergana  Valley  irrigation  sys- 
tem in  Uzbekistan,  which  will  add  about  one  million 
acres  to  the  total  cotton  area. 

In  1929,  the  share  of  the  Soviet  Union  in  the  world 
cotton  output  was  still  only  3.2  per  cent,  but  in  1932 
it  already  reached  7.2  per  cent.  From  the  fifth  place, 
which  the  Soviet  Union  occupied  before  the  war  in 
the  world  cotton  production,  the  country  has  risen  to 


324  DAWN    OVER    SAMARKAND 

the  third  place,  and  is  well  on  the  way  of  assuming 
second  place  at  the  end  of  the  Second  Five- Year  Plan. 

"Boasting,  empty  Soviet  boasting,"  Alim  Khan  consoles 
himself.  "The  fact  is  that  this  year  Uzbekistan  and  Tad- 
jikistan have  failed  to  fulfill  their  cotton  plan.  Uzbekistan, 
according  to  their  own  figures,  has  given  the  Soviet  Union 
90,000  tons  of  raw  cotton  less  than  was  expected,  while 
Tadjikistan  has  carried  out  only  86  per  cent  of  the  plan. 
Now  they  can  scarcely  blame  the  beys.  So  it  is  'climatic 
conditions'  and— they  admit  it  themselves— 'bad  work!'  It 
must  have  been  pretty  rotten  work,  if  they  had  to  throw 
out  thousands  of  members  from  the  Communist  Party. 
It  must  have  been  bad  indeed  if  Moscow  had  to  send 
'Comrade'  Kuibyshev  to  Central  Asia  to  discover  the  cause 
of  the  trouble." 

. . .  The  yield  of  our  cotton  fields  this  year  was  low 
—continues  the  voice  imperturbably— and  at  the  Uz- 
bekistan and  Tadjikistan  Congresses  of  Soviets  the 
collective  farmers  declared  that  they  regarded  it  as  a 
disgrace  that  the  1934  plan  of  cotton-harvesting  was 
not  fulfilled  and  they  solemnly  assumed  the  obliga- 
tion to  make  1935  a  decisive  year  in  the  struggle  for 
freeing  the  Soviet  Union  from  the  need  of  importing 
cotton  and  to  give  the  textile  industry  extra  cotton 
to  make  up  for  the  shortage  of  1934. . . . 

"Just  so,"  smiles  Alim  Khan,  mirthlessly.  "Solemn 
promises. ..." 

. . .  Let  us  now  turn  to  Central- Asian  industry, 
booms  the  voice  from  the  ether.  Here  our  progress  has 
been  no  less  impressive.  In  nine  years  the  output  of 
our  heavy  industries  alone  increased  600  per  cent, 
from  140  million  rubles  in  1925  to  850  million  rubles 
in  1934.  The  number  of  industrial  and  transport 
workers  has  risen  from  35,000  in  1925  to  213,000  in 
1934.  Electrical  power  has  grown  500  per  cent  in  the 
last  five  years,  amounting  in  1933  to  93  million  kilo- 
wats.  Oil,  coal,  zinc,  lead,  copper— all  discovered  since 


SOVIET   ASIA 1934  325 

the  Revolution— form  the  basis  for  a  rapidly  expand- 
ing fuel  and  metallurgical  industry. 

Thus  in  the  matter  of  oil,  it  has  been  established, 
as  a  result  of  the  exploration  work  carried  out  in 
Central  Asia  in  1933,  that  the  Fergana  Valley  (Uzbe- 
kistan) is  capable,  not  only  of  satisfying  local  require- 
ment in  fuel  oil,  but  may  become  the  oil  center  for 
the  whole  of  Central  Asia.  Of  the  new  oil-bearing 
districts  discovered,  those  of  Chust,  Pakh  and  Kassan- 
say  are  of  particular  interest.  New  oil  fields  were  also 
discovered  over  a  large  stretch  of  land  from  the  foot 
of  the  Alai  range  to  the  town  of  Fergana.  Oil  has  also 
been  found  in  Northern  Tadjikistan,  twenty  kilo- 
meters from  the  town  of  Khodjent,  at  a  depth  of  400 
to  500  meters.  Finally,  new  oil  deposits  have  been  lo- 
cated in  Changyrtosh,  in  the  Kirghiz  Republic,  and 
experimental  exploitation  has  begun  this  year. 

Or  take  lead.  On  January  21,  1934,  the  first  section 
of  the  lead  combine  in  Chikivent  was  started.  The 
annual  output  capacity  of  the  first  section  is  twenty 
thousand  tons.  When  completed,  it  will  increase  to 
sixty  thousand.  The  combine,  which  will  be  the  larg- 
est in  the  world,  has  its  own  electric  station,  where 
the  first  turbine  of  2,000  kilowatts  has  been  started. 
The  Chikivent  lead  combine  will  obtain  its  ore  from 
the  Ashisay  and  the  Kansek  lead  deposits.  A  branch 
railway  line  eighty-five  kilometers  long  has  been  built 
to  the  Ashisay  deposits.  The  total  cost  of  building  the 
combine  has  been  estimated  at  115  million  rubles, 
the  cost  of  the  first  section  being  75  million  rubles. 

In  Uzbekistan,  the  gross  industrial  production  has 
grown  from  300  million  rubles  in  1930  to  750  million 
rubles  in  1934.  On  Uzbek  territory  we  are  now  en- 
gaged in  building  an  extremely  large  electro-chemical 
combinat,  Chirchikstroy,  at  the  cost  of  from  700  to 
800  million  rubles.  The  first  unit  of  a  gigantic  textile 
combinat,  named  after  Comrade  Stalin,  is  nearing 
completion  in  Tashkent.  A  huge  nitrate  plant  now 
under  construction  will  provide  fertilizer  for  a  million 
hectares  of  land  per  year.  A  number  of  other  indus- 
trial enterprises— factories  for  the  production  of  cloth- 
ing, building  materials,  etc.— are  being  erected.  The 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

First  Five-Year  Plan  having  been  fulfilled  in  Uzbe- 
kistan, the  Second  Five- Year  Plan  is  now  being  real- 
ized. Our  budget  in  Uzbekistan  has  increased  from 
37  million  rubles  m<  1924-1925  to  521  million  rubles 
in  1935.  The  commodity  turnover  in  Uzbekistan  for 
the  year  1934  amounted  to  one  billion  rubles;  the 
socialist  sector— our  state  and  cooperative  trade— has 
won  out.  The  private  dealer  has  been  driven  out  of 
trade.  On  a  smaller  scale,  parallel  progress  has  been 
made  in  Tadjikistan.  There  the  gross  industrial  pro- 
duction has  increased  from  12,378  thousand  in  1928 
to  84,185  thousand  rubles  in  1934,  i.e.  it  has  grown 
700  per  cent  in  six  years.  From  1930  to  1934  included 
we  have  invested  142  million  rubles  in  the  develop- 
ment of  Tadjik  industry.  We  have  built  in  Tadjikis- 
tan a  number  of  large  industrial  enterprises:  a  can- 
ning combinat  in  Khodjent,  two  large  silk  factories 
(one  in  Khodjent,  one  in  Stalinabad),  etc.,  etc.  The 
Varsob  hydroelectric  station  is  approaching  comple- 
tion. . . . 

"Soviet  figures  . . .  Soviet  statistics  . . ."  taunts  Alim  Khan. 
"Everybody  knows  their  agricultural  and  industrial  statis- 
tics are  a  fraud,  their  astronomical  numbers  a  hoax. ..." 
Yet  Alim  Khan  finds  no  consolation  in  his  taunts.  Even  in 
Kabul,  he  has  had  occasion  to  observe  the  considerable 
growth  of  Soviet  exports  of  manufactured  products  in  the 
East.  Soviet  trade  with  Afghanistan,  he  knows,  is  rising. 
It  reached  the  pre-war  level  in  1927-1928  and  has  been 
continuing  to  rise  ever  since.  The  same  holds  true  of 
Soviet  trade  with  the  other  Eastern  countries.  In  Persia, 
since  1929,  the  Soviet  Union,  he  knows,  has  occupied  an 
important  and  even  a  monopoly  position  as  purveyor  of 
a  number  of  goods  classifications,  and  Soviet  exports  of 
sugar,  oil  products,  rubber  shoes,  china  and  glass,  cement, 
metals,  cotton  goods,  paper,  machinery  and  equipment 
began  to  play  a  considerable  part  in  Persia's  purchases 
abroad.  Trade  between  Chinese  Turkestan  (Sinkiang)  and 
the  Soviet  Union,  despite  competitive  efforts  of  the  English 
and  the  Japanese,  exceeded  the  pre-war  level  several  years 
ago.  In  Mongolia  and  Toana-Tuva  the  Soviet  Union 


SOVIET   ASIA 1934  327 

is  not  only  the  leading  trading  country,  but  has  become 
the  chief  guide  and  helper  in  their  economic  upbuilding. 
In  the  face  of  these  well-known  facts,  deep  in  his  heart  the 
Emir  feels  his  sneers  to  be  rather  empty  and  ineffectual. 


We  Have  Been  Victorious 
The  deluge  of  numbers  in  the  air  is  overwhelming: 

. . .  The  lack  of  roads  has  been  the  bane  of  Central- 
Asian  existence.  Roads  have  been  built  here  at  a  fever- 
ish pace,  and  in  1934  Uzbekistan  fulfilled  its  road- 
building  plan  for  the  year  ten  days  ahead  of  schedule: 
some  1,232  kilometers  of  roads  were  constructed,  and 
16  kilometers  of  bridges  were  repaired.  In  Tadjiki- 
stan, during  the  last  five  years,  138  million  rubles 
have  been  put  into  transport.  We  now  have  there  over 
2,000  miles  of  newly  built  automobile  roads.  The 
highest  road  in  the  world,  and  one  of  the  longest  in 
the  Soviet  Union— 800  kilometers  long— connecting 
Osh  and  Khorog  in  the  Pamir  Mountains,  has  been 
completed.  Enormous  difficulties  had  to  be  overcome. 
The  roads  lead  over  high,  inaccessible  mountain 
ridges,  across  deep  rivers  and  over  snow-covered  areas. 
Distances  which  formerly  took  35  days  to  travel  by 
camel-caravan,  now  take  from  three  to  five  days.  An- 
other road,  almost  as  difficult  of  construction,  is  now 
being  built  between  Stalinabad  and  Ura-Tuibe. 

. . .  Similar  successes  have  been  scored  in  the  realm 
of  culture.  In  Czarist  Turkestan,  out  of  40,000  stu- 
dents in  the  elementary  schools,  only  7,000  were  chil- 
dren of  natives  and  the  annual  expenditure  for  educa- 
tion amounted  to  10  kopeks  (5  cents)  per  child.  In 
1932,  in  the  socialist  republics  of  Uzbekistan,  Turk- 
menistan and  Tadjikistan,  into  which  this  territory  is 
now  divided,  the  expenditure  per  child  was  35.10 
rubles,  55  rubles,  and  41  rubles,  respectively.  Literacy 
had  increased  by  1934  from  4.6  per  cent  to  52  per 
cent  in  Uzbekistan;  and  from  a  fraction  of  i  per  cent 


DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

to  40  per  cent  in  Turkmenistan,  to  25  per  cent  in 
Tadjikistan,  45  per  cent  in  Kirghizia,  and  24  per  cent 
in  Karakalpakia. 

In  1934,  on  the  territory  of  former  Turkestan,  there 
were  10,900  elementary  and  middle  schools  with  an 
attendance  of  997,525  children;  1,023,700  grown-ups 
were  attending  classes  for  the  liquidation  of  illiteracy. 
Before  the  Revolution,  there  was  not  one  higher  insti- 
tution of  learning;  in  1925  there  were  only  two;  in 
1934,  thirty-five  with  15,000  students.  There  are  al- 
ready thousands  of  Uzbek,  Kirghiz,  Turkoman  and 
Tadjik  doctors,  engineers,  agronomists,  scientists, 
teachers,  and  writers. 

The  growth  in  newspapers  and  books  published  is 
equally  significant.  In  1925  there  were  20  news- 
papers with  an  annual  circulation  of  30  million.  In 
1934  the  number  grew  to  307,  printed  in  17  languages, 
with  an  annual  circulation  of  177  million  copies. 
More  than  20  million  copies  of  books  were  printed  in 
1933.  Similar  figures  can  be  cited  to  show  a  parallel 
growth  of  public  health  and  social  services,  children's 
playgrounds,  theaters,  rest  homes,  and  hospitals. . . . 

"You  lie!"  chokes  Alim  Khan.  "You  lie!  'Public  health 
. . .  rest  homes  . . .  hospitals!'  When  there  is  nothing  to  eat 
or  to  wear!  When  the  whole  world  knows  you  are  starving! 
When  in  Germany  and  Austria  they  are  collecting  money 
for  your  famine  victims." 

. . .  Extremely  instructive,  too,  are  the  figures  for 
the  growth  in  the  participation  by  women  in  the  elec- 
tions in  the  villages  of  the  Republics  of  Central  Asia: 
In  the  Uzbek  Republic,  from  7.8  per  cent  in  1926, 
participation  increased  to  72  per  cent  in  1934.  In  the 
Tadjik  Republic  participation  rose  from  22  per  cent 
in  1929  to  67  per  cent  in  1934.  Our  women  are  drawn 
more  and  more  into  the  government.  In  Turkmen- 
istan 16  per  cent  of  the  delegates  to  the  village  Soviets 
are  women;  in  Uzbekistan,  13  per  cent;  in  Tadjiki- 
stan, 22  per  cent.  In  our  cities,  the  percentages  are 
much  higher:  in  Turkmenistan,  21  per  cent;  in 
Uzbekistan,  26  per  cent;  in  Tadjikistan,  17  per  cent. 


SOVIET  ASIA — 1934  329 

It  is  not  amiss  to  contrast  with  this  the  fact  that 
women  are  still  completely  deprived  of  their  electoral 
rights  in  such  countries  as  Italy,  France,  Japan,  Por- 
tugal, Belgium,  Holland,  Yugoslavia,  Greece,  Brazil, 
Argentina 

The  comparison  of  the  Central-Asian  Republics  with 
the  most  advanced  countries  in  the  world  knocks  the  last 
bit  of  resistance  out  of  the  Emir.  Now  he  is  resigned  to 
hearing  almost  anything.  The  voice  becomes  louder;  it 
sounds  triumphant: 

. . .  This  brief  summary  proves  the  correctness  of 
the  Leninist-Stalinist  line  on  the  national  question. 
Lenin's  famous  thesis  that  backward  peoples  can  ad- 
vance toward  socialism  without  having  to  go  through 
the  capitalist  stage  of  development  is  brilliantly  estab- 
lished by  our  Central-Asian  Republics,  especially 
Tadjikistan,  where  only  yesterday  the  most  primitive 
forms  of  economy  prevailed.  We  have  been  victorious. 
We  are  now  victoriously  engaged  in  building  social- 
ism. And  the  reason  for  our  victory  is  clear. 

Comrade  Stalin  pointed  out  long  ago  that  as  com- 
pared with  all  the  colonial  and  semi-colonial  countries 
in  the  East,  the  Soviet  Republics  in  Central  Asia  have 
the  following  distinguishing  characteristics:  first,  they 
are  free  from  the  imperialist  yoke;  second,  their  na- 
tional development  proceeds  not  under  the  guidance 
of  a  bourgeois  but  of  a  Soviet  power;  third,  insofar  as 
they  are  as  yet  industrially  backward,  they  can  rely  on 
the  industrial  proletariat  of  the  most  advanced  repub- 
lics in  the  Union  to  help  them  to  accelerate  their  in- 
dustrial development;  fourth,  being  free  from  the 
colonial  yoke,  being  under  the  protection  of  the  pro- 
letarian dictatorship  and  being  members  of  the  Soviet 
Union,  these  republics  can  be  drawn  into  the  socialist 
upbuilding  of  the  country. 

The  reason  for  our  victory  is  clear.  Headed  by  the 
Bolshevik  Party,  the  toilers  of  the  Soviet  East 
achieved  their  success  in  fierce  struggle  with  counter- 
revolution, the  Basmachi,  the  beys,  in  perpetual 
clashes  with  nationalistic,  pan-Islamistic,  pan-Tiurkist 


330  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

elements,  with  Great  Russian  chauvinists,  and  other 
anti-Soviet  and  anti-Party  elements.  The  example  of 
Soviet  Central  Asia  should  convince  the  peoples  of  the 
world  that  only  a  victorious  proletarian  revolution 
and  the  dictatorship  of  the  proletariat  can  settle  the 
national  question,  and  that  all  the  talk  of  the  social- 
fascists  about  the  possibility  of  solving  the  national 
problem  within  the  framework  of  capitalism  is  noth- 
ing but  the  ideology  of  the  enemies  of  the  working 
class,  the  enemies  of  the  oppressed  peoples. 

This,  of  course,  does  not  mean  that  we  are  ready  to 
rest  on  our  laurels.  Our  achievements  have  been  great, 
but  we  have  not  yet  caught  up  with  the  most  devel- 
oped republics  in  our  Union.  Further  advances  will 
be  accompanied  by  many  more  difficulties  and  will 
call  for  even  greater  exertion  and  more  intense  strug- 
gle. But  that  cannot  deter  us.  Guided  by  the  Bolshevik 
Party,  under  the  leadership  of  the  best  friend  of  the 
toilers  of  all  nations— Comrade  Stalin— and  with  the 
assistance  of  the  more  developed  Soviet  republics,  the 
workers  and  peasants  of  the  Soviet  Republics  of  Cen- 
tral Asia  will  attain  still  greater  successes  in  building 
a  classless  socialist  society  on  the  borders  of  Afghan- 
istan, India,  China 


XVIII 
SOVIET  ASIA  SINGS 

We  Tadjiks  sing  of  what  we  see. 

If  we  see  a  fine  horse,  we  make  a  song  about 

it 

We  have  songs  made   by  sweet-tongued  poets, 
Songs  made  to  travel  along  the  borders  of  the 

years. 

Those  which  had  passed  at  least  three  ages 
Told  of  flowers  and  beautiful  girls. 
But  today  they  do  not  sing  of  girls  and  flowers: 
They  sing  of  our  new  freedom, 
They  sing  about  an  airplane, 
They  sing  of  beautiful  future  days, 
But  more  than  all  else  they  make  songs  about 

Lenin. 
For  they  know  that  without  him  no  new  songs 

would  have  been  born 
(Save  those  like  howls  of  dogs:  that  is,  praises  of 

the  Emirs, 

Their  generals,  their  colonels,  their  soldiers). 
Lenin  gave  our  bards  the  right  to  sing  of  what 

they  pleased, 
And  all  of  them  at  once  began  to  sing  about 

Lenin.  —Tadjik  Folksong. 


Songs  of  Sorrow  and  Revolt 

IF  numbers  and  statistics  afford  an  objective  standard  of 
Soviet  achievement,  the  reaction  of  the  Soviet  people  to 
those  achievements,  the  subjective  element,  is  most  clearly 
reflected  in  their  folk-songs,  legends,  plays,  and  literature. 
In  a  sense,  therefore,  the  nameless  Tadjik  creator  of  the 
verses  prefixed  to  the  present  chapter  tells  us  more  about 
the  effects  of  the  revolution  than  mountains  of  official 
statistics  and  libraries-full  of  ponderous  tomes  of  inter- 
pretations by  foreign  observers,  travelers,  and  newspaper 


332  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

correspondents  can  possibly  convey.  "We  Tadjiks  sing  of 
what  we  see."  A  simple  mountain  folk,  the  Tadjiks  re- 
spond to  the  world  about  them  with  an  immediacy,  a 
spontaneity  denied  to  the  literary  and  artistic  exponents  of 
more  sophisticated  peoples.  What  is  true  of  the  Tadjiks  is 
of  course  also  true  of  many  other  Soviet  peoples— the 
Uzbeks,  the  Kirghiz,  the  Turkomans,  the  Kara-Kalpak- 
ians,  the  Chuvashes,  the  Buriats,  the  Circassians,  etc.  The 
reader  will  recall  the  blind  seventy-year-old  Turkoman 
bard  Kar-Molli,  quoted  in  the  introduction  to  this  book, 
who,  in  his  song  of  praise  to  the  Bolsheviks  for  crushing 
the  Khans  and  setting  his  country's  soil  free,  assures  his 
auditors: 

Of  all  I've  heard  and  seen  I  sing, 
For  now  my  blind  eyes  see  anew. 

It  is  in  the  light  of  these  simple  poetic  statements  that  we 
must  read  the  new  literature  and  folklore  of  Soviet  Central 
Asia.  What  do  these  peoples  see?  How  do  they  react  to  the 
spectacular  changes  in  their  environment?  What  do  they 
sing  about?  What  differences  in  mood,  in  form,  in  content 
has  the  revolution  brought  into  the  songs  and  poems  and 
legends  of  the  scores  of  minority  peoples  in  the  Soviet 
Union?  With  the  profound  change  in  the  economic  and 
social  structure,  what  changes  have  taken  place  in  the  psy- 
chological and  the  cultural  superstructures? 

Take  the  old  folk-songs  of  Central  Asia,  the  shepherd 
songs,  or  the  women's  songs,  or  the  cotton-growers'  songs 
—what  hopelessness,  what  melancholy,  what  bitterness! 
One  shepherd  complains  about  his  hard  life,  his  eternal 
wanderings,  and  about  "the  many  bitter  tears  I  have  shed 
from  my  eyes."  Another,  herding  camels  for  the  Medzhaur 
tribe,  chants  plaintively: 

Month  in,  month  out  I  drag  behind  the  camels, 

My  bare  feet  are  torn,  cut;  they  ache. 

If  you  chance  to  pass  my  village,  tell  my  master 

Khyrdan-Bey 
That  I  must  have  some  leather  to  protect  my 

wounds. 


SOVIET  ASIA— 1934        333 

Still  another  tells  of  his  "heart  and  blood"  having  "dried 
and  burned  in  the  fire  of  the  steppe."  He  intones  sadly: 

Khodzham  Shukur  is  our  master. 
Pig-weed  is  our  food. 
If  the  worms  attack  the  pig-weed, 
How  shall  we  live? 

The  Soviet  poets  in  Central  Asia  who  have  emerged 
from  the  masses  sing  of  the  past  in  tones  quite  similar  to 
the  folk  poetry  of  the  pre-revolutionary  days.  Thus  the 
Turkoman  poet  Aman  Kekilov,  in  a  long  and  beautiful 
poem  entitled  "Days  From  My  Past"  paints  the  old  life  in 
the  Turkoman  village  in  the  blackest  colors: 

Until  I  was  seven  or  eight 
I  lived  with  my  mother. 
When  my  mother  died, 
I  remained  alone,  an  orphan. 
From  that  time  on,  like  a  slave, 
I  worked  for  the  same  bey, 
Herding  sheep  in  the  steppe, 
Visiting  the  village  only  once  a  year. 

To  live  in  the  steppe  all  the  time  was  hard. 

Always  chasing  after  the  sheep  and  the  lambs 

But  to  stay  in  the  village  was  even  worse, 
Always  under  the  heavy  hand  of  the  bey. 

And  Ata  Niyazov,  another  Turkoman,  reminisces: 

I  drag  myself  behind  the  grazing  camels, 

My  sister  carries  water  for  the  herd. 

The  poor  little  creature  understands  everything, 

And  streams  of  tears  are  running  down  her  cheeks. 

Our  master,  we  both  know,  is  making  ready 

To  sell  to  strangers  this  little  friend  of  mine. 

And  so  ad  infinitum.  Melancholy,  resignation-not  a 
note  of  rebellion.  Life  seemed  as  immutable  as  the  steppe, 
as  the  glaciers  on  the  Pamir.  "The  poor  were  subdued  by 
their  poverty,  and  the  rich  enjoyed  the  power  of  their 


334  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

wealth. . . .  The  rich  were  strong  like  oaks,  and  the  poor 
and  weak  clung  to  them  like  young  shoots  of  ivy."  Above 
all,  "like  a  granite  rock"  stood  "our  mighty  Moslem 
faith." 

Among  the  first  voices  of  revolt  was  that  of  the  oldest 
and  most  prominent  Tadjik  novelist  and  poet,  Sadreddin 
Aini.  As  an  authentic  expression  of  the  insurgent  mood 
prevalent  among  the  advanced  sections  of  the  Djadid 
movement,  Aini's  work  has  scarcely  been  excelled.  Himself 
an  active  Djadid,  Aini  had  more  than  once  experienced  the 
brutality  of  the  Emir's  regime.  There  exist  two  photo- 
graphs of  Aini  in  Central  Asia:  one  showing  his  lean, 
emaciated  body  with  deep  traces  of  chains  on  his  shoul- 
ders; another  showing  his  back  as  a  mass  of  torn,  bleeding 
flesh— the  result  of  a  flogging  in  the  Emir's  dungeon.  Small 
wonder  that  Aini's  works  are  aquiver  with  hatred  for  Bok- 
hara's savage  past!  Small  wonder,  too,  that  since  the  first 
day  of  the  Revolution,  Aini,  an  old  man,  has  been  in  the 
forefront  of  those  who  have  been  struggling  for  a  new  life 
and  a  socialist  culture  in  Central  Asia. 

A  middle-class  intellectual,  with  deep  roots  in  the 
ancient  traditions  of  Persian  culture,  Aini  came  to  the 
Revolution  with  much  of  the  psychological  and  esthetic 
baggage  of  his  milieu.  But  his  progress  from  the  ornate 
love  lyrics,  courtly  rhetoric,  and  religious  mysticism  of 
the  upper  class  to  the  modern  motifs,  revolutionary  atti- 
tudes, and  the  simple  language  of  the  masses  has  been 
steady  and  admirable. 

In  August,  1918,  Aini,  then  a  fugitive  from  Bokhara 
living  in  Tashkent,  wrote  a  now  famous  poem  entitled  "On 
the  Death  of  My  Brother  Khadzhi  Siradzheddin  Who  Was 
Executed  by  the  Emir  After  Kolesov's  Retreat  From  Bok- 
hara." The  poem  opens  with  a  description  of  the  author's 
profound  dismay  at  hearing  of  his  brother's  death  under 
the  headsman's  ax: 

And  like  a  sword  it  struck  me  in  the  breast, 

And  pierced  my  heart,  and  robbed  me  of  my  breath, 

And  dimmed  my  thoughts,  and  crushed  all  life  in  me. 


SOVIET  ASIA— 1934        335 

The  eight-line  stanza,  like  the  two  subsequent  ones,  is 
followed  by  the  haunting  refrain: 

O  sweetest  friend,  O  brother,  O  apple  of  mine  eye, 
Thou  art  gone  from  me  . . .  gone  . . .  gone. . . . 

The  poet's  sorrow,  however,  soon  gives  way  to  bitter  re- 
sentment. His  soul  cries  out  for  vengeance: 

/  swear— henceforth  I  shall  pursue  no  glory, 
Nor  read  glad  books,  nor  give  my  thought  to  chess. 
My  brother's  dead.  Life's  brightest  moon  is  dimmed. 
The  steed  of  grace  has  perished  in  the  stream. 
Henceforth,  I  swear,  I  shall  not  sing  of  roses, 

Nor  love,  nor  beauty /  shall  not  sing  sweet  dreams. 

Henceforth,  my  voice  shall  rage  with  flaming  venge- 
ance, 
Shall  cry  a  burning,  bitter  chant  of  hate. . . . 

O  sweetest  friend,  O  brother,  O  apple  of  mine  eye, 
Thou  art  gone  from  me  . . .  gone  . . .  gone. . . . 

Overcome  with  anger  and  grief,  the  poet  hurls  accusa- 
tions at  the  "Ruler  of  Heaven."  Out  of  the  depth  of  his 
despair,  he  cries:  "Thou,  Thou  alone  art  guilty  of  this 
crime!"  But  the  Heavenly  Ruler  does  not  answer— "the 
empty  sky  is  dumb "  Suddenly  the  poet  comes  to  un- 
derstand that  his  personal  loss,  his  personal  grief  are  an  in- 
separable part  of  the  whole  country's  suffering  and  shame. 
His  country  is  groaning,  bleeding.  "O  land  of  mine,"  ex- 
claims Aini,  "here  only  dreams  are  bloodless."  Despair  is 
followed  by  hope.  Such  horrors  cannot  last  forever.  The 
oppressed  people  will  rise  once  more.  The  emirs,  the 
khans,  the  rulers  "will  drown  in  the  black  sea  of  their  own 
crimes." 

The  conclusion  of  the  poem  is  an  interesting  reflection 
of  the  dualism  in  the  psychology  of  the  petty-bourgeois 
Djadids  in  the  early  years  of  the  Revolution.  In  1918,  Aini 
is  still  a  pious  Moslem.  His  defiance  of  Allah  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  poem  is  only  a  momentary  aberration.  Towards 
the  end,  lifted  by  a  new  hope,  he  turns  back  to  Allah: 


336  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

O  God!  Shatter  the  roofs  of  the  palaces 
Over  the  crowns  of  the  vile  khans. 
O  God!  Lead  us  out  of  this  horrible  dungeon, 
And  make  the  trembling  princes  kneel  before  their 
slaves. 

Two  years  later,  Aini's  prayers  were  fulfilled.  The  op- 
pressed people  did  rise.  The  roofs  of  palaces  did  fall  on 
the  crowns  of  the  vile  khans,  and  trembling  princes  did 
kneel  before  their  former  slaves.  But  that  Allah  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it,  Aini  himself  has  ceased  to  believe.  In- 
deed, in  his  latest  works,  Aini,  the  beloved  writer  of  the 
Tadjik  masses,  shows  very  clearly  that  the  great  miracle 
of  his  people's  emancipation  has  been  accomplished  not 
through  the  kind  intervention  of  Allah  and  his  prophets 
but  by  the  revolutionary  fervor  of  the  laboring  Tadjik 
masses  under  the  leadership  of  the  Communist  Party  of 
the  Soviet  Union. 


Songs  of  Freedom 

"Cast  an  observing  eye  over  the  face  of  the  Tadjik 
world,"  invites  the  Tadjik  bard  Sukhaili; 

You  will  see  a  new  city,  resplendent  like  a  bride- 
groom; 
You  will  hear  the  bridegroom's  happy  song. 

Hark!  A  propeller  hums. 
An  automobile  purrs  smoothly  on  the  road. 
An  iron  train  sweeps  by  in  clouds  of  smoke  and 
dust 

Sukhaili  exults  over  electric  lights,  over  tractors  "led  by 
Tadjik  hands."  He  urges: 

. . .  Enter  a  peasant  hut 
Before  the  sun  is  settling  down  to  rest; 
Hear  the  song  he  sings,  watch  the  dancing  shadow  of 
his  tambourine. . . . 


SOVIET  ASIA — 1934        337 

"Hey,  man!"  the  peasant  chants: 

Look,  the  sun  of  freedom  burgeons  in  the  sky! 
Spring  waters,  free,  roar  joyous  down  our  valleys! 
And  everywhere  our  Soviet  folk  sings 

While  the  enemies  of  the  Bolshevik  Revolution  all  over 
the  capitalist  world  are  shedding  crocodile  tears  over  the 
tyranny,  despotism,  hunger,  drabness,  and  horrors  of  the 
Soviet  regime,  the  "Soviet  folk  sings,"  the  "sweet-tongued" 
poets  of  Soviet  Asia,  in  the  words  of  the  anonymous 
Tadjik  bard,  sing  of  their  new  freedom,  sing  about  an 
airplane,  sing  of  beautiful  future  days,  make  songs  about 
Lenin: 

Do  you  hear  the  happy  shouting,  Tadjikistan? 
Your  glorious  day  has  come,  Tadjikistan! 

Your  day  has  come!  Your  day  of  joy  has  come, 
My  wild,  rocky,  young  Tadjikistan. 

This  is  the  mood,  this  is  the  dominant  motif  in  the 
poetry  of  the  awakened  peoples  in  the  Soviet  East.  They 
sing  of  their  new  freedom.  The  unprecedented  sense  of 
release  brought  by  the  Revolution  has  found  expression 
in  countless  poems  and  folksongs  in  all  the  languages  in 
the  Soviet  Union. 

"Friends,  my  friends,  my  dear,  my  lovely  friends," 
chants  the  Turkoman  bard,  B.  Karbabiev,  on  the  seven- 
teenth anniversary  of  the  Bolshevik  Revolution, 

To-day  I  sing  of  freshly  budding  flowers. 
The  old  world  is  dead.  The  red  roses  in  my  hand 
Are  like  the  first-born  children  of  our  new,  our  flam- 
ing epoch. 

With  our  own  angry  blood  and  the  black  blood  of 

the  khans 

We  once  had  drenched  these  wild,  endless  sands. 
From  the  acrid  days,  buried  in  the  mists  of  the  past, 
These  new  red  roses  have  blossomed  into  life. 


338  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

A  new  sun  is  in  the  skies— the  sun  of  a  new  freedom. 
And  nothing  in  the  whole  world  is  as  beautiful  as  this 
new  sun. 

One  . . .  eleven  . . .  seventeen Year  follows  year, 

Each  year  in  struggle  sharpens  its  sharp  edge. 

Turkmenia,  my  land,  my  Soviet  fatherland, 

Like  a  flower  of  joy,  life  has  opened  up  before  you. 

Take  of  it. 

Breathe  of  it. 

Make  each  single  day  a  fragrant  day  of  Socialism! 

Almost  all  of  the  songs  of  freedom  contain  the  contrast 
between  the  "acrid  days"  of  the  past  and  the  "fragrant 
days"  of  the  present.  Thus,  the  Central  Asian  poet  Munav- 
var-Sho  tells  how  he  was  "beaten  with  rods  . . .  thrown  in 
black  pits  . . .  kept  without  food  for  twenty-four  famishing 
days."  How  he  "wept  with  tears  of  blood,"  while  the 
Emir's  henchmen  peered  into  his  eyes, 

. . .  But  the  storm  of  my  heart  could  not  be  stilled. 

I  sang  to  them: 

You  think  you  have  destroyed  me? 

Fools,  I  have  learned  the  dictates  of  fate. 

Rob  the  poor.  Eat  their  bread. 

A  day  will  come  and  you  will  be  threshed  out  of  your 

castles 
As  oats  are  threshed  out  of  their  ears  by  dancing 

chains. 

Soldiers  came  to  my  village.  They  were  looking  for  the 
sower  of  rebel  thoughts.  They  slew  my  father  by  the  doors 
vf  the  mosque. 

Go  out  on  the  hills  of  rebellion,  my  horse. 

Look!  All  around  there  is  fire,  and  smoke 

Like  a  drove  of  young  steeds  the  hours  fly  past. 
They  vanish— and  empty  is  the  palm  of  the  steppe. 


SOVIET  ASIA — 1934  339 

Ah,  why  recall  the  past?  The  hungry  and  bloody  time  of 
our  rulers?  The  cruel  years  of  the  Emirs,  the  dogs?  My 
heart  sings  of  the  new! 

O  Tadjik  land,  your  time  at  last  has  come! 

The  cruel  age  is  gone-your  time  at  last  has  come! 

Machine  that  plows  our  fields,  your  time  at  last  has 

come! 
O  Soviet  man,  your  time  at  last  has  come! 


Songs  About  Lenin 

Closely  related  to  the  songs  of  freedom  have  been  the 
countless  songs  and  stories  and  legends  about  Lenin.  This 
was  natural.  From  the  very  first  day  of  the  Revolution  the 
name  of  Lenin  had  become  associated  in  the  minds  of 
tens  of  millions  with  their  national  and  economic  libera- 
tion: 

Lenin  gave  our  bards  the  right  to  sing  about  what 

they  pleased, 
And  all  of  them  at  once  began  to  sing  about  Lenin. 

Indeed,  in  the  literature  and  folklore,  not  only  of 
Central  Asia,  but  of  the  whole  of  the  Soviet  Union,  the 
figure  of  Lenin  had  at  one  time  begun  to  assume  almost 
legendary  proportions.  The  personality  of  the  great  leader, 
the  noble  comrade,  the  sterling  Bolshevik,  caught  the 
imagination  and  stirred  the  love  of  millions.  The  oil- 
driller  in  Baku  and  the  peasant  in  the  Ukraine,  the  Arch- 
angel fisherman  and  the  Siberian  nomad,  the  Caucasian 
mountaineer  and  the  Central  Asian  shepherd  were  all  con- 
tributing toward  the  creation  of  a  great  Lenin  epos. 

We  must  remember  that  the  overwhelming  majority  of 
the  men  and  women  and  children  who  participated  in  the 
building  of  this  epos  was  composed  not  of  trained  Marx- 
ists and  dialectical  materialists.  They  were  illiterate  or 
semi-literate  peasants— accustomed  to  the  traditional  forms, 
the  similes  and  hyperboles,  the  nature  imagery,  and  the 


34O  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

fabulous  heroes  of  all  folk  poetry.  Lenin  the  Marxist, 
Lenin  the  philosopher,  Lenin  the  revolutionary  strategist 
they  neither  knew  nor  understood.  To  them  Lenin  was  a 
holy  savior,  an  emancipator,  a  being  great  and  wonderful 
in  his  wisdom  and  power  and  love  for  his  fellow  men. 
There  had  been  nothing  in  their  poor,  uneventful  lives 
and  in  their  peoples'  scant  annals  to  provide  a  figure  even 
remotely  resembling  that  of  Lenin,  except  their  legendary 
heroes  and  saints.  It  was  inevitable,  therefore,  especially 
in  view  of  the  ever-present  urge  of  people  to  find  fulfill- 
ment in  myths  and  legends,  in  saints  and  heroes,  that  at 
first  some  of  the  qualities  and  characteristics  of  the  peo- 
ple's legendary  great  figures  be  transferred  to  Lenin.  We 
must  also  remember  the  grandeur  of  the  historical  setting. 
Lenin's  name,  Lenin's  personality  invaded  the  conscious- 
ness of  these  primitive  peoples  during  the  most  crucial  and 
picturesque  period  of  their  history.  His  was  the  central 
figure  in  the  monumental  drama.  He  had  emerged  in  the 
lurid  glare  of  storms  and  conflagrations,  of  wars  and  revo- 
lutions raging  over  one-sixth  of  the  land  surface  of  the 
globe.  He  had  passed  out  of  the  scene  before  the  sober 
light  of  the  reconstruction  period  and  of  widespread 
Marxist  culture  had  rendered  his  silhouette  more  nearly 
commensurate  with  his  very  great,  but  also  very  human 
stature. 

The  image  of  Lenin  as  a  mighty  bogatyr,  a  giant,  an  epic 
hero,  a  savior,  is  particularly  pronounced  in  all  the  stories 
and  songs  treating  of  him  as  the  champion  of  the  subject 
peoples  of  the  East.  Now  he  brings  hope  to  the  oppressed 
Georgians,  now  to  a  little  Hindu  boy,  now  to  a  hungry 
and  beaten  Chinese  coolie.  The  coolie  faints  when  he  hears 
of  the  death  of  Lenin: 

Lenin  is  dead.  But  what  does  it  mean: 
But  what  about  the  Chinese  coolies? 

In  one  Oriental  chant  we  read  that  at  the  moment  when 
Lenin  was  born  into  the  world,  he  saw  man's  woe  and  he 
sighed.  The  earth  heard  that  sigh,  and  people  knew  that 


SOVIET   ASIA 1934  341 

he  was  born. . . .  And  Lenin  walked  from  hamlet  to  ham- 
let, from  door  to  door;  he  beheld  man's  suffering,  and  his 
heart  began  to  glow  with  a  great  hatred  and  a  great  love. 
. . .  Lenin  gave  his  heart  to  the  people.  And  the  heart  sent 
forth  countless  sparks.  And  each  spark  was  brighter  than  a 
bonfire  at  night.  And  people  saw  the  way  to  happiness.* 

In  another  Oriental  chant,  Lenin  is  described  as  a  hero 
born  of  the  moon  and  a  star,  using  the  magic  powers  he 
inherited  from  his  parents  to  overcome  the  monster-dragon 
that  lay  on  the  road  to  happiness.  In  still  another,  he  very 
ingeniously  outwits  the  White  Czar.  In  one  Eastern  legend 
Lenin  rises  to  colossal  stature;  he  "splits"  mountains: 

. . .  And  on  the  sixth  year,  when  the  earth  was  free 
of  lords  and  slaves,  Lenin  vanished. . . .  And  when 
people  saw  that  Lenin  was  no  more,  they  said  that  he 
died.  But  Lenin  has  not  died.  He  remembers  the 
testament  of  his  teacher,  Khatto-Bash;  he  is  seeking 
happiness  in  the  mountains.  Men  see  the  earth  shak- 
ing, and  they  say  it  is  an  earthquake.  No,  it  is  Lenin 
splitting  mountains  in  his  search  for  the  little  rod,  in 

his  search  for  happiness  and  truth And  when  he 

finds  the  little  rod,  then  all  peoples,  yellow  and  black 
and  white,  will  live  happily.  No  one  will  ask  why  life 
is  so  sweet,  because  no  one  will  know  that  life  can  be 
bitter 

*  Lenin's  heart  consumed  by  a  great  flame  recurs  in  numerous  Eastern 
songs  and  legends.  Here  is  an  example  from  Tadjik  folklore: 

Lenin  lifting  his  head  above  the  stars 

Saw  the  whole  world  in  a  glance, 

The  world  his  hands  could  guide. 

Vast  was  his  mind, 

With  room  enough  for  a  peasant's  complaint 

As  well  as  the  waging  of  war. 

He  did  not  reign  long,  but  his  reign  was  like  a  bonfire 

Giving  to  some  light  and  warmth, 

To  others  flame  and  fire— 

His  life  which  burned  up  in  the  fire  of  his  love 

Long  we  noticed  that  he  was  burning  away, 

But  we  could  not  drown  the  fire  of  love  in  his  heart 

And  thereby  save  his  life: 

Can  any  one  put  out  the  blaze  of  a  burning  steppe? 

The  fire  in  Lenin's  heart  was  a  thousand  times  more  strong. 


342  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  and  humanly  tender  tributes 
to  the  memory  of  the  Bolshevik  leader  is  contained  in  the 
following  Kirghiz  song: 

In  Moscow,  in  the  great  stone  city, 
Where  the  country's  chosen  lie  gathered 
A  hut  stands  on  the  square 
And  in  it  Lenin  lies. 

You  who  bear  a  great  sorrow 
Which  nothing  can  console 
Come  to  this  hut:  Look  at  Lenin! 

And  your  sorrow  will  be  carried  off  like  water, 
It  will  float  away  like  leaves  on  a  stream, 
But  a  new,  quiet  sorrow  will  envelop  you 
That  he  who  was  the  father  of  his  land 
Was  stung  with  the  sting  of  death. 

We  love  him  even  as  we  love  our  steppes 

And  more— our  huts  and  steppes  we  would  give  away, 

Our  camels,  wives  and  children  if  these  could  bring 

him  back 

But  he  is  in  the  dark,  the  awful,  the  unknown. 

Where  shall  we  look  for  him  now?  we  cry, 
And  the  steppe  cries  with  us, 
The  moon  and  stars  cry  with  us: 

They  remember  Lenin We  remember  Lenin. 

And  neither  ourselves  nor  our  grandsons'  grandsons 
Ever  will  forget  him. . . .  Our  steppes  may  choke  with 

weeds 

And  tens  of  Kirghiz  generations  walk  from  the  earth 
But  the  last  of  them  will  be  happy  that  he  goes 
Where  Lenin  is. 

Another  song,  quite  as  beautiful  perhaps,  is  one  picked 
up  by  the  Russian  anthologist,  L.  Soloviev,  in  Kalabadam: 

In  April  Lenin  was  born,  in  January  he  died. 
These  two  months  in  red  and  black 
Are  pressed  into  our  memory. 


SOVIET  ASIA — 1934        343 

Now  in  April  we  shall  wear 
Red  clothes  to  show  our  joy, 
And  in  January  we  shall  wear 
Black  clothes  to  mark  his  death. 

In  April  we  will  sing  joyous  songs; 

In  January,  sad  ones. 

In  April  the  sun  will  sing  happily  with  us, 

In  January  the  cold  wind  will  wail  with  us. 

It  is  significant  that  with  the  general  advance  of  Soviet 
culture,  the  image  of  Lenin  in  Central  Asian  poetry  and 
folklore  is  perceptibly  changing.  The  superhuman  quali- 
ties and  vague  delineation  of  the  mythological  hero-eman- 
cipator are  on  the  wane.  As  the  details  of  Lenin's  life  and 
work  are  becoming  the  common  property  of  new  millions 
of  literate  workers  and  peasants,  the  gulf  between  Lenin 
as  an  objective  reality  and  Lenin  as  an  expression  of  sub- 
jective emotion  is  disappearing.  More  and  more,  the  clear- 
cut  figure  of  the  Bolshevik  leader  of  the  proletariat,  with 
all  its  specific  qualities,  is  penetrating  into  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  Soviet  masses.  The  garland  of  traditional  an- 
thropomorphic imagery,  of  legendary  little  rods,  and 
monster-dragons,  of  stars  and  moons  and  flaming  hearts  is 
giving  place  to  the  concrete,  realistic  imagery  of  the  new 
age. 

New  Content— New  Forms 

Thus,  in  his  recent  "Wreath  on  Lenin's  Grave,"  for  ex- 
ample, the  Tadjik  poet  G.  Lakhuti,  instead  of  the  old 
imagery,  weaves  in  the  most  poetic  flowers  of  con- 
temporary Soviet  vocabulary-"factory  sirens,"  "factory 
smoke,"  "Stalingrad  tractors ...  the  steel  still  warm," 
"forges,"  "heavy  mauls,"  "sheaves  of  wheat  from  every 
Kolkhoz,"  etc.  The  poem  reveals  a  sharp  awareness  of  the 
role  of  the  Communist  Party.  It  speaks  of  giving  our 
"Party's  oath ...  to  devote  our  lives  to  Communist  suc- 
cess." It  even  refers  to  inter-party  struggles: 

We  say:  The  cause  of  our  truth  we  fight  to  defend. 
In  final  combat  we  engage  in  closely  drawn  ranks. 


344  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Against  the  Left  foe  and  the  Right  alike  we  fight. 
Victoriously  . . .  thanks  to  your  wise  words  that  light 
our  course. 

Toward  the  end  the  poem  asserts  Lenin's  "immortality," 
but  in  a  purely  materialist- Leninist  sense:  "Immortal  is 
this  great  man  who  left  to  the  world  the  power  of  the  Bol- 
shevik Party. ..." 

Lakhuti's  "Wreath  on  Lenin's  Grave"  is  symptomatic  of 
what  is  transpiring  in  the  realm  of  culture  all  over  the 
Soviet  lands.  A  changing  content  is  rapidly  bringing  about 
changing  forms.  And  to  the  extent  that  the  content  of 
Soviet  life  is  everywhere  fundamentally  the  same,  in  the 
same  degree  do  the  cultural  forms  of  the  different  Soviet 
nationalities  begin  to  assume  amazing  similarities.  But  for 
the  language,  Lakhuti's  poem  might  on  the  whole  have 
been  written  not  by  a  Tadjik  but  by  a  Great  Russian,  a 
Jew,  or  a  Laplander.  Its  distinguishing  qualities  are  not 
especially  Tadjik,  they  are  Soviet. 

This  trend  could  be  illustrated  by  innumerable  recent 
examples  from  all  the  national  minority  arts  in  the  Soviet 
Union,  reflecting  the  processes  of  industrialization,  col- 
lectivization, of  work  and  study,  of  psychological  readjust- 
ment and  socialist  incentives,  of  Party  life  and  Party 
loyalty,  etc.  There  is  no  need  of  burdening  the  chapter 
with  too  many  examples.  The  following  literal  translation 
of  parts  of  one  of  Lakhuti's  latest  poems— written  in  the 
form  of  a  report  to  Pravda,  the  Central  Organ  of  the  Com- 
munist Party  in  the  Soviet  Union— will,  I  hope,  convey  to 
the  reader  the  character  of  the  most  recent  trend  in 
Central  Asia's  Soviet  culture: 

Pravda,  cultural  department, 

Moscow. 
Copy  for  the  Central  Committee 

Press  Section. 

Comrades,  attention! 

Your  utmost  attention! 
A  poet  reports. 

Listen.  Take  note. 


SOVIET  ASIA— 1934        345 

Comrade  Pravda, 

Here  in  Tadjikistan 
The  steps  of  Leninism 

Are  growing  ever  vaster. 
Men  everywhere  have  changed— 

Building  our  Socialist  structure. 
The  very  same  people 

Who  once  lay  slavishly  prostrate 
Under  the  feet  of  the  beys 

And  in  the  claws  of  the  mullahs 
Are  to-day— I  marvel 

At  their  deeds  and  their  brains!— 
Garnering  the  abundant  fruits  of  October 

There  was  Khalima. 

When  she'd  see  a  storm 
And  lightning  in  the  blue  and  purple  heaven, 

She'd  run  for  shelter. 
She'd  cry,  shut  her  eyes, 

And  tremble  like  a  leaf  on  an  autumn  birch. 
To-day  Khalima  is  not  the  same! 

Knowledge  has  been  given  to  her, 
Nature  has  become  her  obedient  slave. 

I  see  her  busying  herself  with  the  antennae- 
She  has  rigged  up  a  radio  with  her  own  nimble 
hands! 

And  there  was  Tursun. 

Ever  since  the  tractor 
Came  clatteringly 

To  take  the  place  of  the  old  wooden  hoe, 
Tur sun's  brain  began  to  ring  with  different, 
new,  unheard-of  strains. 

In  his  consciousness, 
Where  formerly 

Donkeys  and  camels 
Wandered  half  sleepily 

Along  the  customary  bridle  paths, 
To-day  in  a  whirlwind  of  efficiency 

Dash  to  and  fro  autos  and  tractors  and  loco- 
motives and  airplanes. 


346  DAWN    OVER   SAMARKAND 

Where  is  the  interminable  talk, 
More  barren  than  the  sands  of  the  desert? 

Where  is  the  snail  pace? 

Where  the  Oriental  dreaminess? 

They  have  stopped  wasting  words  here. 
They  have  become  efficient,  firm,  precise. 

No  wonder!  In  the  olden  days, 

Tursun,  following  the  slow  steps  of  his  ox, 

Would  sing  his  endless,  plaintive  tune. 
And  he  never  used  his  eyes 

When  he  swept  his  ancient  scythe- 
Sowing  or  harvesting,  always  half  asleep. 

Now,  behold,  the  Tursuns  do  not  sleep: 

The  motors  shake  them, 
The  wheels  make  a  mighty  noise. 

Sullenness  and  laziness  are  gone. 
Ears  are  sharper. 

Eyes  more  vigilant, 
Speech  more  vivacious, 

Songs  more  alive. 

Comrade  Pravda, 

This  is  no  fiction. 
This  is  no  exercise  of  a  garrulous  poet. 

Exact  and  truthful  is  the  story  I  tell, 
Upon  my  Communist  word. 

"My  orchard." 

"My  mill" 
"My  cotton  field." 

Now  you  don't  hear 
These  words  from  our  peasants. 

"Our  orchard!" 
"Our  mill!" 

"Our  cotton  field!" 
Everything  ours,  like  the  air  that  we  breathe. 

To-day  we  have  a  Moslem  holiday— 

Ruza  we  call  it  here. 
And  what  a  holiday  it  was  in  the  past! 

Deserted  the  homes,  deserted  the  fields, 


SOVIET  ASIA— 1934        347 

Crowds  kneeling  all  day  in  the  mosques. 

But  now  who  has  time  to  think  of  Ruza? 
Who  has  time  for  this  nonsense  of  the  slavish  past? 

Ruza? . . . 

Our  unions  call  for  brigades! 
Shock  work  in  our  shops  and  our  schools! 

Banu  who  had  only  once— 
When  she  was  a  bride- 
Taken  a  ride  on  a  horse, 

Now  every  morning  mounts  an  autobus, 
And  daily 

Rides  gayly 

To  school. 

Ask  even  a  baby, 

Who  are  our  leaders? 
The  baby, 

Nestling  at  its  mother's  breast, 
Still  unable  even  to  babble, 

Looks  into  your  eyes 
And  shoves  its  plump  little  finger 

Into  the  portraits  beloved  by  all 

No,  this  is  no  fiction,  no  exercise  of  a  garrulous  poet. 
Soviet  Asia  is  marching  ahead,  struggling,  building,  sing- 
ing. The  Khalimas  and  the  Tursuns  and  the  Banus  are  a 
new  generation  in  Central  Asia— bold,  confident,  efficient. 
Gone  are  the  interminable  talk  and  the  Oriental  dreami- 
ness. A  new  life  is  creating  a  new  consciousness,  a  new 
man:  ears  are  sharper,  eyes  more  vigilant,  speech  more 
vivacious,  songs  more  alive.  And  while  the  clouds  of  war 
are  gathering  over  the  great  Union  of  Socialist  Soviet  Re- 
publics, while  the  imperialists  in  the  East  and  the  im- 
perialists in  the  West  are  plotting  to  attack  the  Soviet 
workers  and  peasants,  who  for  the  first  time  in  man's  his- 
tory are  freely  forging  their  own  happiness,  I  can  think  of 
no  better  conclusion  to  this  book  than  the  song  of  the 
Tadjik  collective  farmer: 

My  breath  is  free  and  warm 

When  I  see  our  dry  plain  being  plowed. 


348  DAWN   OVER   SAMARKAND 

When  water  flows  along  the  cotton  field, 

When  I  see  a  finished  dam, 

And  when  I  see  those  with  me  who  strive  for  this  new 

life, 
I  am  as  pleased  as  a  father  is  with  his  own  son. 

I  cannot  help  but  cry:  "Hail,  all  new  men" 

When  I  see  my  son  driving  a  machine  along  the  field. 

When  1  see  a  plow  that's  piercing  root  and  soil, 
1  cannot  help  but  cry:  "Glory  to  those  who  labor!" 

When  I  am  threatened:  "The  old  world  will  return" 
I  fall  to  the  ground  and  freeze  in  fear. 

Give  me  a  gun,  comrade;  give  me  some  bullets— 
I'll  go  to  battle;  I  shall  defend  my  land,  my  Soviet 
land. 


b>> 


A6HKA&AP 


A.  TAJIKISTAN 
B.UZBEKISTAN 
C.KIRGHIZ    REP. 
D.  TURCMANISTAN 
E.KARA  KALPAK 


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